The Red
by AgilityNut
Summary: In between MtW and Mossflower, Martin is plagued by frequent attacks of the Bloodwrath, and he has no idea why. IF YOU HAVE NOT READ MtW, DO NOT READ THIS!
1. The Beginning

This is about a shorter story in-between the books Martin the Warrior and Mossflower. I'll hopefully be able to finish this. This is what I have so far.

Hey my first ever fan fiction! Thanks to KK (foreverdreamer101) for getting me into this writing again!

If you read Redwall books and have not yet read Martin the Warrior and plan to, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS! It gives away the ending to Martin the Warrior. But, if you have already read it or do not plan on reading it, enjoy.

December 11, 2004

_The Red_

A better, more beautiful day could not have made the world brighter. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and there was not a cloud to be seen in the sky. The yellows and whites and pinks of the tulips covered the field with a blanket of color. The gentle buzzing of bees filled the crisp air. Water trickled down a stream; sparkling and shimmering in the sun. Blades of grass and tall cat tails rustled in the breeze. Yet the breeze wasn't as comfortable and relaxing as it used to be. There was a slight chill in the air.

Summer was ending.

Martin shivered slightly; partly from the chill, and partly by surprise. This was the first sign of autumn he had noticed. He was too deep in thought to notice his surroundings. His warrior instincts screamed inside, telling him and scolding him about how foolish he was. How could he, Martin the Warrior, son of Luke the Warrior, let himself sit by a stream, dazed and half asleep? He should be ashamed! He is not fit to carry the blade of Luke the Warrior.

But guilt did not win on that sunny afternoon. Martin was too exhausted to think about such things at the moment. Depression was taking over his young, strong body. His fearless mind was clouded with images of the ones he had loved and left behind. But one image stayed forever in the center of his brain. He could see her gorgeous eyes staring right back at him; fluttering her long, dark eyelashes. He could see her dancing in a sea of sunflowers, her jade green dress twirling around her. Her high, heavenly voice rang through his ears like a choir of angels. What were the words? Martin couldn't quite understand them. Something about a river, and a vale… Then the wonderful smell of the mouse reached his nostrils. It was a mixture of sweet honey and red roses. Rose.

Laterose.

Martin sighed deeply. This was the third time that afternoon he found himself in almost unconsciousness, staring at his one true love. He wanted to reach out and touch her, she felt that close.

Laterose.

But she was too far away. And she was never coming back. She was gone forever.

Laterose.

Martin hung his head and started sobbing uncontrollably. The death of Rose was taking a toll on his mind and body. He felt ten seasons older. He was no longer brave, fearless and strong. He was weak and cowardly.

"Rooooooose!"

Martin bellowed as loud and long as his lungs would allow it. _Why me?_ He thought. _What have I don't to deserve such intolerable punishment?_

Martin punched the ground with his fist. He then stood up, wielding his sword. Furiously he hacked at the cat tails and tulips. He sliced them to strips and pieces. He then threw down his blade and ripped at them with his bare paws. He bit, he tore, he strangled them until all vegetation around him had been pulled up by the roots. He didn't know what had come over him. He could barely see through the red fog that seemed to be suffocating him. He wanted to punch and kick. He wanted to hurt somebeast. He wanted to watch something bleed. _He wanted to kill._

Martin fell to the ground in an exhausted heap. Panting heavily, he stared at his reflection in the stream. Tears streaked across his face, leaving deep lines like canyons. His eyes looked tired and defeated. This was not the mouse he once was, the mouse he thought he knew. This was not Martin, son of Luke the Warrior. Martin blinked back more tears.

He saw another reflection in the water besides his own.

"Having some problems, are we?"

Martin turned around. Through the fading red mist, he could make out a figure standing before him. Was it a hedgehog? He couldn't see any spikes. An otter? No, it couldn't be, the voice was too high pitched.

"I'd say you'd got some Bloodwrath there, yup yup."

Martin blinked. The red was gone now, but for some reason, he still wasn't quite sure what exactly this creature was. It looked like a mouse, but it was larger, and it had extremely big teeth, like a rabbit. It had a thick tail, with a long, black dorsal stripe, like that of a badger. And there was something about the cheeks. Of course there was something about the cheeks; they were twice the size of the creature's head.

Martin shook his head to see if he was hallucinating. "Um…what-er-who, are you?"

The beast smiled and fluttered its eyelashes. It was a female. "For the what, well I'd be a chipmunk. And for the who, my name be Azalea, yup yup."

Martin was confused. "What exactly is a, er-"

"A chipmunk, you say?" Azalea interrupted, "A chipmunk is a small rodent that collects acorns, berries and seeds and store them in their rather large cheek pouches." She poked her cheek and winked. "I'm the last of me kind in this neck of the woods, yes-sir-ree."

So those were cheek pouches, Martin thought. With those, there was no need for a haversack. What a lovely adaptation!

"So, who were you fightin'? You got that Bloodwrath, yes you do." The look on Azalea's face turned serious.

Martin shrugged. "Oh, er, nobeast. I was just, er, sleeping, and I, uh…" his voice trailed off.

Azalea smiled again. "No need to explain further, sir. You look mighty hungry, yup yup yes-sir-ree. Would you like some vittles?"

Before Martin could answer, Azalea had her mouth opened wide, and her paw on the inside of her cheek. She had just about punched the side of her face, when two small blackberries popped out. She spat them out onto the ground and gave Martin that goofy grin of hers.

"Nuthin' like the old cheek pouches to keep your vittles toasty, yup yup. Would you like half?"

Martin stifled a gag. That berry had been in her mouth, or, to be more precise, in her cheek, and she wanted him to eat it? At least the otters' hotroot soup wasn't covered in chipmunk saliva. He couldn't tell her that, however. This was second nature to her, she was just being friendly.

"I'm actually not that hungry." Martin said innocently. "Thanks for offering, though."

Azalea shrugged, "Suit yourself, yes you will." She popped the blackberries back into mouth and chewed hungrily. "Hey," she said through a mouth full of food, "you from this area are you?"

Martin was getting used to the chipmunk's strange dialect. After all, he had befriended three moles and their quaint mole speech over the past season. "No, I'm from up north. I'm just doing some traveling."

It was true. Martin was born in the Northlands, and he was doing quite a bit of traveling. Although, he didn't know where he was going exactly.

"From the north, eh? Then what are we doing down this far south, then? Azalea asked.

Martin hesitated. He had promised himself never to speak of his past lest he unknowingly send ruthless villains to Marshank or Noonvale. He couldn't bear to think of any harm coming to Rose's family and his other good friends, especially if it was because of his doings. But, Azalea wasn't a villain, and there was nobeast around to overhear them. He could almost hear his father's voice ringing in his ears. _Haven't you learned anything from your experiences, son? Are you a fool? Are you not the warrior I raised you to be? _Martin's heart put on a fierce battle with his mind. For all he knew, there could be a band of roving weasels that spent their free time stealing food and treasures and taking the lives of innocent woodlanders, hiding in the bushes.

"I just wanted to get away for awhile," Martin finally replied. "There is so much more to the world than the Northlands."

Azalea nodded. "I admire your courage and need for adventure. I've never been much of an explorer myself, yup yup."

Suddenly, a low cackle was heard from the bushes behind Azalea. After a shaking and rustling of leaves, a group of four creatures emerged.

Didn't Luke just say how foolish Martin was? Martin's warrior instincts weren't working as well as they used to.


	2. Seafarers

Sorry for taking so long! I haven't had much time to write, and I just finished the second chapter! Hope you guys like it and thanks for all the great reviews.

Happy Holidays

-Passion

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December 18, 2004

_The Red_

Chapter 2

Scribnose was a born leader. His mother, a healing ferret, told him he would make a good captain someday. And then she would spank him on the rear for stealing her "magical" berries. Scribnose knew his mother was a fake. Her potions never worked, her elixirs never cured, her bandages didn't hold. But she was a decent mother, unlike the other parents around their camp. The only thing he had against her was the fact she gave him such a horrible name. Scribnose wanted a powerful name, a frightening name. He would change it, but he was too dense in the head to think of a better name himself. So, Scribnose stuck.

However, he did grow up to be a captain of his own ship. After his mother died, he ran away from his tribe's camp with a few members seeking more freedom and power and who were denser in the head than Scribnose himself. He built a small ship, named it _Weedlang_ after his mother, and sailed off.

After a third of a season, Scribnose's ship was wrecked, all provisions were gone, and he had only half the crew he had left with.

Scribnose had ordered two weasels, Darkfang and Redear, to search for more food. They had found themselves on land once again. Scribnose was planning on searching for rations, fixing their weapons and putting together a new boat. But his plans changed when he heard a voice coming from the south. It sounded like a creature screaming. Hoping it was some innocent, defenseless woodlander he could easily capture, Scribnose chose two other ferrets and a rat to go with him and explore the area.

And that's when they spotted them. Behind a mass of bushes, Scribnose and his crew could see a young, strong looking mouse and a larger, chestnut colored creature with giant cheeks. Scribnose had no idea what the latter was, but it didn't look too powerful. The mouse looked rather tough, but they could take him on. They had a two to one advantage.

"But look at 'is blade, cap'n," Mangefur, the rat, complained after seeing the look of glee in Scribnose's eyes. " 'E could chop us all inter bits and eat us fer brekkist."

Scribnose snapped at the rat's whip like tail. "Shuttup, you blubbering fool," he said in a fierce whisper. "Look here. We outnumber 'em two to one. I've got my sword, an' you three got your rapiers. The mouse is armed, but that funny lookin' creature has no weapons. We could take 'em easily and keep 'em as slaves. Unless, you three want to build our new ship all by yerselves."

The three villains cringed and shook their heads. For disagreeing with their captain, becoming head boat builders would be getting off easy. There were much more cruel punishments Scribnose could give.

"Now listen 'ere," Scribnose ordered. "As I see it, this mouse and this-er-these two mice shouldn't give us any trouble. What we'll do is a fair trade. We'll threaten to kill 'em, and then we make 'em give us all of their vittles and weapons. And then, when they think they're all safe and free, we kill the big one for fun and take the armed one prisoner."

Mangefur and the others began to rub their paws together with glee. The thought of ruthless killing always brightened their spirits.

"You dud heads ready?" Scribnose asked.

The three crew members shook their heads vigorously. The fact that their captain just insulted them went unbeknownst to them.

"Do exactly as planned now. On three." The ferret leader clenched his fists. He could practically taste the easy victory sitting before him. "One...two…three!"

Seafarers.

Unsuccessful seafarers to be more exact. Martin was quite used to the type, but nevertheless, he would rather not have to deal with them.

There were three ferrets and a rat. The ferret in front, which Martin presumed to be the leader, was the largest of the four. He was predominantly white with a black cap and dorsal stripe. His muzzle was scrunched and scrambled to such an extent that Martin at first thought he was wearing a mask. Piercings littered his body and a tattoo of a sea monster could be seen on his left bicep. The sword he carried did not look too valuable and was probably stolen from a newly slain enemy.

The two other ferrets looked exactly alike. Martin guessed that, however rare it was for ferrets, they were twins. Unlike their captain, they were mostly black with white underbellies. Carrying rapiers, which Martin knew for a fact that they were stolen from the tribe of Guosim shrews, the pair looked bedraggled and underfed. Their sunken eyes flickered with delight at the sight of lonely woodlanders.

The rat was foul looking and smelling. His greasy fur was matted and stained with sap and blood. The wicked smile that played across his lips allowed for two chipped and rotted teeth to show. Slimy and dirty, his tail swung back and forth like a pendulum. He too carried a rapier, except this one was dull and had a broken hilt.

Smiling devilishly, the leading ferret commanded his gang to halt. "Hullo there, mice. Nice day isn't it?"

Martin was not fooled by the vermin's polite greeting. He turned to Azalea, and she too stared at the visitors warily. "Yes it is," the mouse answered. "What brings you here?"

Scribnose began to pace in front of the two friends. "Oh, we're just, ya know, passing through…"

Martin didn't believe it for one second. "Then you better leave us alone and be on your way." He tightened his grip on Luke's handsome sword.

"Ah, but why leave when there is a good source of vittles about, eh?" Scribnose's eyes glanced at Martin's haversack.

Martin could see were this conversation was heading. "Listen here," he said, his voice growing sterner, "we're just peaceful travelers. We don't mean you any harm. Now, just let us continue on our way, and we won't cause you any trouble."

The ferret clones snickered. Scribnose smiled dully. "Oh, I'm sure you won't be causing us any trouble, as long as you follow our directions very closely." The ferret's once friendly smile turned sinister.

In a flash, Scribnose's sword was underneath Martin's chin, its ominous point threatening the mouse to let down his guard.

"Step number one," Scribnose hissed, "you two give us all the vittles you've got, and we spare yer lives."

Martin wasn't panicking yet, and a plan began to form in his mind. "You have no right to take the personal belongings of innocent creatures," he said through gritted teeth.

The ferret captain chuckled. "You have no right to take the personal belongings of innocent creatures," he mocked in a squeaky, high-pitched voice. "Listen to him, mates. He's talking to me like he's the boss 'round here!" Scribnose thrust his weapon even higher.

The blade was touching Martin's skin now. He could feel the cold, hard steel on his flesh. At any moment, the sword would be jabbed into his unprotected jaw. Martin risked a quick glance to his right at Azalea. She was alert and at the ready.

With a grunt of exertion, Martin thrust his body backwards into midair. In the middle of a back flip, his footpaws collided with Scribnose's clenched fist. The ferret's sword went flying through the air. Landing smoothly on the ground, Martin swung out with his blade. The sharp steel connected with Scribnose's footpaw. Yelping in pain, Scribnose fell to the ground with a thud.

To Martin's right, Azalea was advancing on Mangefur. She leaped at him, digging her huge incisors into the back of his neck. Grabbing the rapier from the helpless rat, Azalea stabbed Mangefur swiftly in the back. He lay slain on the bloodstained grass.

Martin reached for the ferret captain's abandoned sword. He turned to the twins. After seeing their crew member brutally murdered with his own rapier and their captain's footpaw hacked into, they decided to pull a cut-and-run. How smart of the idiots, Martin thought to himself.

There was a groan heard from behind. Scribnose was beginning to rise. Martin wielded the ferret's blade and whacked Scribnose upside the head with the flat. Down he went again. Martin stood over the trembling ferret, pointing his father's sword at his throat.

Martin was just about to withdraw his weapons and show Scribnose some mercy, when a strange thought came into his mind.

_Martin hadn't felt the thrill of killing in a long time._


	3. Bloodwrath

Sorry it took me so long to update, I've been in more of a reading mood than a writing mood lately. Thanks everyone for their great reviews! A special thanks to Stormrose Dewleaf for adding this to her faves! A quote from Young Dinny in _Mossflower_ pretty much sums up how I feel about that: "O joy, O 'arpiness!"

I'm sorry this chapter is so short, the next one will be longer, I promise!

Disclaimer: I do not own Redwall. Brian Jacques does. But I do own this plot.

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December 29, 2004 

Chapter 3

Martin was lost in his red world. He didn't know where he was, what he was doing, when he had gotten there. All his senses of time and being had left him as quickly as a hawk bolts for its prey. All he could feel was anger. It seemed a flame was alight inside of him and it was burning larger and larger by the second. He wanted to get rid of it, put it out, stamp on it until all that was left was ashes and smoke. But the fire burned on. Martin didn't know what was happening. He just felt _so_ mad. He felt like throwing things and screaming. He clenched is fists so hard his claws bit into the flesh of his palm, and he could feel a small trickle of blood run down his wrist.

All he could see was red. It was like someone had dyed the water of a lake bright red and thrown Martin in it. Was he drowning? He couldn't remember being near water. He couldn't remember anything at all. He felt dizzy and light-headed. Everything he saw before him was too blurry to make out, and objects were swirling around him. He fought the impulse to vomit. His anger grew steadily on.

Martin began to panic. He didn't know who he was anymore, much less where he was going. His anger was boiling now. Excruciating pain seared through his body. But he felt his sword in his right paw. His father's sword. With this useful weapon, Martin could satisfy his thirst for violence. He could stab, slice and hack with this sword. His anger would subside if he attacked something, anything, Martin was sure of it. He raised his blade high above his head, yelling with determination. He was just about to bring it crashing to ground, destroying everything in its path, when he heard a voice.

A sweet, heavenly voice and it was singing.

"See the roving river run

Over hill and dale

To a secret forest place,

O my heart, Noonvale."

Martin stopped and listened. He had heard this voice before. It was so calm and reassuring. He had heard this song before too, when he was last engulfed in the red mist, right before he had met Azalea. But Martin was positive he heard it even before that. Memories came flooding back to his brain. His anger subsided a little. The red faded a fraction. The heavenly, yet quiet voice grew stronger.

"Look for me at dawning

When the sun's reborn

In the silent beauty

Twixt the night and morn.

Wait till the lark ascends

And skies are blue,

There where the rainbow ends

I will meet you."

The words of the song echoed around. Martin knew the girl's beautiful voice; he remembered it so vividly now. He wondered how he could have ever forgotten it. His head seized spinning. His feeling of anger hastily left him, and a feeling of sadness and loneliness replaced it. The red gradually lifted itself from his vision. Martin dropped his sword and fell in a heap on the ground.

The familiar voice was leaving, and Martin silently begged it to stay, for he had now remembered the owner's name.

Laterose.

* * *

The autumn breeze rustled the branches and leaves of the great forest trees. Water bubbled and splashed in a small, cool spring that rose from a batch of rocks. Birds, sitting in their nests, preparing for the cooler weather ahead, chirped harmoniously. Butterflies floated around the many colorful flowers, as if dancing a secret dance known only to their kind. A single, reddened leaf, withered and dead fell to the forest floor. This was unusual, seeing as most of the leaves had not even begun to change color yet. A woodpecker tapped against the trunk of a tree. The woodpecker was not the only creature in that tree on the day, nor had it ever been.

A small mole poked her bonnet-clad head out the window of her tree house. She shooed the noisy bird away with a stained apron. She hated the woodpeckers, they made her nervous, for fear her tree might fall down because of them. It was an irrational thought, but nobody informed Polleekin.

"Gurt burdbag, always a-tappin', hurr aye." Polleekin mumbled to herself as she searched for some ingredients to make an apple pie. She was expecting visitors.

Bustling about, she came across some stale mushrooms in a cupboard. Moving to toss them away, a sad thought occurred to her. She once knew a young, strong hedgehog who had a love for mushrooms.

Polleekin sighed. She knew Pallum was safe, and so weren't his dear mouse and mole friends, Brome and Grumm, but she couldn't help feeling sorry for them. It had been quite some time since Pallum and Grumm, accompanied by two mice, Martin and Rose, first set foot in Polleekin's tree home. They had wanted to be on their way and continue on their journey to free the slaves from Badrang the Tyrant, but she hadn't wanted them to go. She knew the female mouse would meet her death once they returned to Marshank. But it was Rose's fate, something Polleekin had no control over.

"All manner o'things run through moi ole 'ead," Polleekin sighed. Sometimes, she very much dislike her sixth sense, but she knew it helped many beasts. And she was certain she would be helping Martin the warrior with her knowledge, which was why she had told her dear chipmunk friend of him just several days before.

* * *

"Martin! Martin?"

Martin awoke to the sounds of Azalea softly calling his name. When he finally wrenched open his eyes, he noticed how dark it was out, and he was no longer out in the open near the pond. He wondered where he was, for all he could see was trees and leaves. And then he realized how high up he was.

"Yeeeaaargh!" Martin shot up like an arrow out of a bow and ran along a sturdy branch. He hugged a tree trunk tightly, trying hard not to look down from his dizzying height. _Why was he up in a tree?_

Azalea chuckled slightly. "Sorry about that, yes I am. But you were out cold, and that's what we did with unconscious creatures when I lived with the squirrels, yup yup."

"Squirrels?!" Everything was happening so fast, Martin's head was beginning to spin. He sat down his back against the tree trunk.

"I used to live with a squirrel tribe after I got separated from mine, yup yup. But more about me later; how ya feeling?" Azalea peeled off a cold, wet leaf that was plastered to Martin's forehead. He hadn't even noticed it.

Martin shrugged. "Better, I guess. Thank you for doing everything for me." He risked a glance below him at the forest floor. Obviously, it was quite a way down. "By the way, how did you manage to get me up here?"

Azalea winked. "I'm stronger then I look, yes I am."

Martin nodded, for it was true. He wouldn't have believed Azalea to be as tough as she was if he had not seen her slay that rat with his own two eyes.

After a few minutes of silence, Azalea spoke. "I've seen a lot of creatures who've had that there Bloodwrath in me time, but they on'y experienced it during heated battle. Tell me something Martin," she said quietly, "why did you suddenly come down with it when you were standing in front of that defenseless ferret? When I first laid me eyes on you, ya struck me as a true warrior, but not a merciless one."

Martin sighed. "I don't know what came over me, Azalea. I've also had the Bloodwrath during battle, but lately it's been happening at random moments. Like earlier today, I was just sitting and thinking, when it hit me like a ton of bricks."

Azalea stood up and beckoned Martin towards her. "Maybe a good night's sleep will help. Follow me, Martin." Apparently, she wanted to end the conversation.

Martin got up to follow, but stopped dead in his tracks. He never recalled telling Azalea his name. "How did you know what my name was?"

The goofy, trademark grin of the chipmunk spread across her face. "I think we have a common mole friend, yup yup."


	4. Azalea's Story

Hey there! I finished Chapter 4 rather quickly, I have so many ideas! Thanks everyone again for all your great reviews, that's what keeps me writing!

Also, please ignore how horrible the names are in this fic. I suck at creating names.

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December 31, 2004

Chapter 4

Martin blinked. How could Azalea know Grumm? _I thought Grumm lived his entire life in Noonvale, _he thought. If Azalea had been to Noonvale, she would know Rose! Martin's heart skipped a beat.

Azalea laughed lightly at Martin's bewildered expression. "Don't worry, you'll learn me whole story after we get you settled in, yup yup." She jumped to a higher branch, smiling down at Martin. "What, ya never climbed a tree before, eh? What kind of warrior are ya!"

Martin was still holding the tree trunk tightly. He had climbed a mountain while being chased by wild squirrels, rescued a baby pigmy shrew from an angry seagull mother and defeated Badrang the Tyrant, but climbing trees was not one of Martin's specialties. Just the thought that at any moment the branch he was standing on could snap and send him plummeting to the ground didn't sit well with him. He had never told anyone of his fear of being in trees, for he was supposed to be the fearless leader.

"Martin, there is a rope."

A sigh of relief escaped from the mouse. He wouldn't have to jump to the other tree branch. Scaling the rope rather tentatively, Martin reached the limb on which Azalea was standing. To his surprise, there was a small blue door embedded into the trunk of the tree. However, there was a knob painted onto it, but no real know to turn.

"You like it? The squirrels taught me this, yes they did. It's to keep out intruders." Azalea said.

While Martin pondered why anybeast would look for a door up in a tree, Azalea began tapping the door in a very strange way. She tapped three times at the top center, twice in the left corner and five times at the right corner. With a gentle shove, the blue door fell forward to reveal a carved out room inside the tree. Azalea smirked, "Welcome to my humble abode."

The entire tree trunk was carved in from the branch they were standing on to about three mice high above them. It was a very spacious dwelling, complete with a bed, eating table and larder. There was a small pail full of water in one corner and a very small armory in another. Lying on the shelves were corsair daggers, rapiers and swords. A medium-sized squirrel's bow and an arrow, donned with cardinal feathers, hung from a peg in the wall. A shell collection littered the walls, glued on with strong pine sap. Some plainer ones had been painted with bright dyes. It gave the shelter a homier look. The entire place smelled of a pine tree, due to the fact that it was _in _a very large pine tree.

"You have quite a collection of weapons here, Azalea," Martin said, clearly amazed by the assortment of blades. "How come you don't carry any of these with you?"

Azalea, who had been busy sorting through ingredients in her larder, stopped to answer him. "Well, for three reasons," she said, twirling a whisker around her paw. "For starters, luggin' that lot with me everywhere would only slow me down. And another, it's taken me quite a long time to collect all those, yes it did. I don't want to risk losing any of those. And lastly, I prefer me own teeth and claws during battle, yup yup."

Martin nervously smiled. He had met several strange warriors before, but Azalea was definitely somewhere at the top of the list for strangest. How could anybeast enjoy biting their enemies to death? The mouse would much rather use a sword any day.

"You can take a seat at the table, Martin." The chipmunk said. "I'm just going to put away some vittles and then I'll be getting some din-din together, yup yup."

Martin knew what was coming next. He didn't want to look and forced himself to stare at the swirl-like patterns on the wooden table. Curiosity won that night. The warrior took a sideways glance at Azalea and immediately regretted it. After fighting the urge to run and upchuck out the window, Martin lost any appetite he previously had for "din-din".

Azalea laughed at the slightly green-looking Martin sitting at her table. "You'll have to get used to me emptying me pouches, I do it everyday." She placed her food in a pail and began washing them off. "It's only normal vittles with a bit of saliva, ya know." The chipmunk sighed at the expression she received from the wide-eyed mouse.

"So, would you like to hear me story then, would ya?" She said after a few minutes of awkward silence.

Martin nodded vigorously, "Oh yes, please."

"Well, I'd better talk while making us our din-din; it takes quite a bit of tellin'."

On that brisk autumn night, the young warrior mouse sat inside a pine tree, listening to the chipmunk tell her tale.

"I was born way out west, near the beach. I don't know if the place was an island, or a very large landmass. (A/N: This is Azalea's way of saying North America. Thanks for the tip Vanilla Breeze!) Me tribe never explored much. We pretty much kept to ourselves, yup yup. We didn't know of any other creatures living in our area. The whole lot of us lived on the cliffs, in secret burrows in the rocks. We made a decent living, finding food and entertaining ourselves with song and dance. We never bothered nobeast, and in turn nobeast bothered us.

"I was a few seasons old when I remember the large ship sailing in. This was the first time a ship landed on our shores since the founding of our chipmunk tribe, yes it was. It turned out is was a vermin's ship, called the _Deatheye, _as I recall. Captain Wolfbane, a murderous red fox, decided we would make great oar slaves. We were not warriors, and he practically rounded us up and herded us into his ship. That was the last I saw of me original home.

"I spent many long, hard seasons aboard that damned ship. Constantly rowing, I was, with my back bent under the whips of the guards, yup yup. Slavery didn't suit me well, especially since I was just a liddle tyke at the time. Most of the members of me tribe died from exhaustion, starvation, or physical assault. I'm surprised I even lived through the whole ordeal meself.

"After about three seasons, we finally reached land. We were now very far east. (A/N: Yes, that is Europe.) I guess the ship anchored on a certain vermin tribe's so-called land and trouble brewed. Wolfbane's crew got in a battle with these other fellas, yes they did. During the scuttle, several slaves saw this as a chance for escape. Me parents had perished while we were out at sea, so I had no reason to stay. I left with them, yup yup.

"It was me n' three others, Ruby and Topaz, two big, burly female hedgehogs, and Noah, a young mouse like y'self. We stole out into the night, promising the other slaves we would come back for them after we found a decent hideout. We found a perfect one, completely hidden by a big rock and in the middle of a forest. Noah went back to the shore to rescue the other slaves, yup yup. He came back alone, with a sad look in his eyes. He told us that Wolfbane and his crew had decided to leave in haste after they realized they were outnumbered. That meant that the ship and slaves were gone, with no way of finding them again, no there wasn't.

"So, me friends and I wandered along in the forest, until we came across that path over yonder. That's where I first met Polleekin, yup yup."

Martin, who had been silent that entire time, couldn't help but interrupt. "You know Polleekin?"

"Of course, Azalea smiled, "she's our common mole friend. She told me your whole story, yes she did." The chipmunk continued her tale.

"We encountered many different creatures on our journeys and had many adventures. After awhile, though, we came to this here spot in the forest, yes we did. A large group of squirrels lived here. They weren't a family, or a tribe, just a community sorta thing. They welcomed us eagerly and taught us the squirrel life. They taught us how to climb trees, use these secret doors, even how to fight and use weapons, yup yup. That's how I became the warrior I am today. I lived right here in this tree, and Noah lived in a dwelling above me. He became my best friend; we saw each other so much."

"One night, the squirrels were having some sort of celebration or another. I decided to skip the festivities and get some shuteye, 'cause I wasn't feeling me best. I awoke the next morning to find everybeast gone, not a trace left from anybeast. They would never have left without informing me, so I assumed they were captured. Me guess is Badrang the Tyrant, or whatever his name is, yup yup. Since then, I've lived me own solitary life, right in this here pine tree. I was never brave enough to go huntin' me pals down. I sometimes stay away from home a season at a time to roam, but I always return. That's where I've gotten all me shells and blades. I always think about me friends, though, especially Noah. I wonder if they ever escaped from slavery and where they are now." Azalea took a long drink from a beaker of strawberry cordial.

Martin was in awe. He had thought Azalea a little dense and odd, but she was really a brave warrior like himself. He began to think to himself. "You say that your friends were probably kidnapped by Badrang?" he finally asked. The chipmunk nodded. "Now, I know of no Ruby, Topaz or Noah, but I did know some squirrels. Were some fellows by the names of Barkjon and Felldoh part of that community?"

It was Azalea's turn to be surprised. "You knew ol' Barkjon and his liddle son Felldoh, eh? Please, tell me how they're doing! Where are they now?" Her eyes were alight with suspense.

Martin wished he didn't have to tell Azalea the news. "Barkjon is alive and well, living in a peaceful place called Noonvale. Felldoh, however…" his voice trailed off.

Azalea's eyes saddened. "It's okay, Martin, you can tell me."

"Felldoh…gave his life so others could be free. He was a brave warrior and a true friend, one of the best I have ever met."

The chipmunk nodded. "I knew that liddle tyke was a fighter as soon as I laid me eyes on him, yes I did." Rising from her chair, she walked over to her armory. "C'mere Martin, I want to show ya something." She lifted the bow off the shelf and pointed to a small signature carved into the handle. _Barkjon, _it read. "Ol' Bark was a skilled craftsman, 'specially with weapons. He made this for me as a token of our friendship."

Martin smiled. "I told myself I would never tell anyone about my friends, but since you already know my story, I guess I can make an exception."

"I'd like that, yes I would." Azalea replied.

Martin had no idea when he finally got to sleep that night. The two friends stayed up late into the darkness, telling tales of the lives they had touched in their pasts.


	5. The Dream

Hey guys! Sorry to keep you waiting so long. This part is rather short for the period of time that has elapsed since my last chapter was posted. School started again this week, and I've had a science project. I'm also in the middle of a rather suspenseful Susan Conant mystery, so that has not left me much time to write.

Anyway, here's number five. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Redwall. Brian Jacques does. Although I do own this plot.

I do not own the song _The Red, _Chevelle does. All lines in italics that are not quotes from the Redwall books are from the song _The Red_. Blah.

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January 3, 2005

Chapter 5

As soon as Martin hit the bed that night, he was into a deep slumber. It had been a long day for him, complete with meeting a chipmunk, dealing with three ferrets and a rat, and having two unexpected attacks of the Bloodwrath. Snuggling into the blankets, the mouse was beginning to encounter something else. A nightmare.

It started out as a simple dream. Martin was sitting at the pond, fiddling with a cattail. It was a peaceful day, and it was the middle of summer. The hot sun beat down onto Martin's shoulders. He was sweating, and longed for a quick dip in the cool-looking water. Shedding off his clothes, he ran and leaped in with a splash. Instead of being underwater, he immediately found himself in a world of red once again. Fearing he was experiencing the Bloodwrath, Martin panicked. He felt no anger, however, only extreme confusion. That's when he heard someone, or something, move around him. The warrior spun around and found himself standing face to face with none other than Badrang the Tyrant.

Badrang looked exactly the same. He still had the same evil grin spread across his face. He still walked with the same powerful awe about him. And he was still carrying Luke's sword.

"I thought I killed you," Martin stated, unsuccessfully trying to sound brave, even though his blood had run cold.

Badrang continued to smile, and began advancing towards Martin. _They say freak, when you're singled out, _he said, as if reciting a line from a song or riddle. Martin was sure Badrang was the one who had spoken, even though his mouth had not moved at all.

"Are you a ghost?" Martin demanded. "Are you here to haunt me? Answer me!"

The stoat edged closer still. _The red, well it filters through._

Martin noticed a small movement in the corner of his right eye. He chanced a quick look, and what he saw scared the crap out of him. Felldoh, his long-dead friend, was standing next to him, clutching a javelin. "Felldoh?" Martin's voice was barely a whisper.

The tough squirrel stared back at Martin with a cold, unfaltering gaze. Just like Badrang, his lips never moved even though his voice echoed clearly around the trio. _One day I'll return to dance on Badrang's grave._

Both stoat and squirrel were coming closer, weapons at the ready. Martin was defenseless, and slowly began to back away into the red mist.

_So lay down, the threat is real._

Martin felt another pair of eyes burning into the back of his skull. Windred was behind him. A gasp escaped from the warrior. "Grandma?"

_D'you realize you're almost a league away from the caves? _The old and frail mouse swung a small stick about, her cloak wrapped around her tightly as if they were in a blizzard.

_When his sight goes red again._

Martin was completely surrounded now. The icy grip of terror engulfed him. He wasn't used to being afraid. He was usually the one _causing _fear. He was weak and powerless now without means of defense in this red world.

_We'll call him Martin, _said another voice, this one sweet and feminine. Sayna, Martin's mother, also had appeared out of nowhere. Martin had never known her for she had been murdered by vermin before he was a season old, but he instinctively knew it was her. "Mother? Mother, what are you doing here?"

_This change, he won't contain._

But Martin's beloved mother did not answer. Instead, she swung about a heavy seashell on a cord, and advanced on Martin with the others.

_Slip away, to clear your mind._

What did Martin ever do to these creatures for them to want to avenge him? Yes, Martin had murdered Badrang, but he should be at Hellgates right now after all the death and suffering that dreadful stoat had caused. But what pain had Martin put his mother, grandmother and best friend through that made them so angry, so _eerie. _

_When asked who made it show, the truth he gives in to most._

Martin didn't know what to do, so he let instinct kick in. He dashed away from the four creatures. Running as fast as mousely possible, Martin tried to put as much distance in between himself and the dead as he could. He normally would have been delighted to see Felldoh, Windred and Sayna again, but not if they were out to kill him as it seemed they did now. The warrior looked behind him, and saw that the ghosts were also running. And they were running after him, all with the same expressionless gazes, with the exception of Badrang of course. But he had always been a coward at heart. Martin was getting tired, and they were getting closer. He could practically feel their hot breath against the back of his neck. Just when he thought he was a goner, he heard a soft, singing voice ringing clear through his red world. A heavenly voice.

_Look for me at dawning, when the earth is asleep. Till each dewdrop is kissed by the day, 'neath the rowan and alder a vigil I'll keep, every moment that you are away… _

The creatures hunting down Martin froze, and then vanished. The red mist began to fade. Martin wasn't scared anymore, and felt randomly happy. He could even hear a voice calling his name. Laterose had saved him once again.

* * *

Sunlight filtered in through the window of Azalea's tree home, leaving a sleeping form on the bed completely covered in a soft brightness. The chipmunk had been awake since dawn, watching her mouse friend toss and turn in his dreams. She knew Martin was having horrible nightmares, but no matter how hard she tried to wake him, he would not break from his slumber. The warrior's body was now drenched in a cold sweat and a look of pain showed on his face.

Azalea rubbed her tired eyes. Martin was sleeping peacefully now, his nightmares apparently had subsided. Filling a canteen with water, Azalea shook her head with a look of dejection. She hated to leave him alone when he was like this, but she had no choice. There was nobeast she knew that could stay and watch him for her, and the only way she could curb her own curiosity and help Martin was to make the day-long journey. The chipmunk scribbled a note with a piece of charcoal on some bark, and pinned it to the bed post. Certain Martin would notice the strip when he awoke, Azalea began packing food into her cheek pouches. Taking one last look at the sleeping mouse, she tapped upon her door until it fell forward. "If anyone has an answer, Martin, it's Polleekin."

Martin was partially blinded by the extreme sunlight pouring in on him. For a minute, he forgot where he was, and wondered why he was in a bed. Then he remembered Azalea, and then Scribnose, and then finally the chipmunk's tree. Mentally wishing he forgot his attacks of the Bloodwrath, Martin took in his surroundings.

The bed he was laying in felt like a cloud, its soft blankets were made of owl feathers and the pillow of a fox's tail fur. He snuggled deeper down in them, sighing contently. And that's when he noticed a small strip of bark attached to the bed post. Curious, the warrior pulled it off and stared at it. _Dear Martin_, it read, _I have gone on a little adventure. I should be gone about two days, and should arrive back home tomorrow night. Whatever you do, DO NOT leave my home or let any other creature in. You must stay where you are. Please follow my instructions. There's food and drink in the larder, yes there is. Don't come after me, I'll be back soon. Remember, stay in my home! Azalea._

Martin turned the note over, slightly confused. Azalea had told him the night before about how she would sometimes leave to explore for a few days, weeks or even a season, and then return home, but this departure was very sudden. She should have thought to bring me along, Martin thought, unless it was a personal matter. Sighing with frustration, the mouse stood up and stretched. He looked around, wondering what in the world he was supposed to do cooped up in this house for two days, when he realized how hungry he was. His stomach grumbled ravenously, and it seemed to echo loudly throughout the tree. Opening the many cupboards in Azalea's home, he noticed how the food practically repeated itself. Nuts, berries, strawberry cordial, water. Nuts, berries, strawberry cordial, water. Did Azalea eat anything but? Were there no summer salads, bread or scones dipped in honey? No leek and cabbage soup, cheeses or cold mint tea? Martin winced as he remembered all the feasts he had with his friends at Noonvale, at Polleekin's house and on the boats of the otters. For a moment, he regretted leaving, but then realized how painful that would have been. Seeing Aryah and Urran Voh's shocked and traumatized faces as they were told their only daughter was killed by a cruel stoat would be too much for him. _He _was supposed to protect her. _He _was the one who was supposed to bring her back to Noonvale safe and sound. _He _should have died before he let anything harm her. _He _was her best friend. And yet, she died. And he didn't.

Martin slammed the cupboard doors shut. _I should have died,_ he thought. _Rose should still be alive. I should be dead. _Martin reached for his father's sword on the nightstand. He pressed the blade against his paw, testing it. A trickle of blood sprouted from the fresh cut, the result of the sharp metal. Hot tears poured from his eyes as he pointed the lethal weapon towards his chest. A mix of emotions, jumbled and tangled together, came out all at once. Anger, sadness, shock, fear. He had to see Rose again. He had to repay her for the pain he had caused her. He wanted to end the pain he was feeling now. And here was an answer, staring him blankly in the face. His reflection showed in the metal of his blade. He looked at it, wondering how he would look once he was gone from the face of the Earth. His paws started to shake. How nice it would be to see his mother, his grandmother, and all his brave friends again. His entire body was trembling violently now. How great it would be to see Rose again, and leave all his negative feelings behind him.

"On the count of three," Martin whispered, "One…two…three…"


	6. Rose's Message

This chapter is a bit longer than the others. Yay, I finally got to write a riddle! The action in the story starts to pick up from here. Please R&R!

Thanks to everyone for all your wonderful reviews!

Disclaimer: For crying out loud, I don't own Redwall!

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January 8, 2005

Chapter 6

It was four hours past dawn. Azalea checked the sun's position, and the hot ball of fire glared back at her from its eastern arrangement. She had stopped to take a drink of water from her canteen and nibble a bit on an acorn from her cheek pouches. She had been traveling at a steady pace for two hours now and decided that her present pit stop was well earned. She hadn't been exploring in about a season and it showed. "I'm not as physically fit as I used to be," Azalea complained with a sigh.

"And you're not as pretty as you used to be, I dare say," came a voice from behind a bush.

Azalea turned towards the foliage. She knew that voice anywhere, and she would bet her life on it too. "And you're not much of a gentleman anymore, no you're not," the chipmunk jested back. They played this game often. "How come ya won't show yourself? Afraid I'd rip your neck open?"

A rather large, male squirrel appeared from behind his hideout. He was a handsome creature, with coal grey, almost black, fur and a bright smile. His amber eyes glinted in the sunlight. He carried a shining steel dagger with a diamond-studded hilt through his leather belt and donned a snake skin headband with a baby blue feather sticking out of it. The baggy trousers he was wearing matched the color of the feather perfectly. "Was I ever a gentleman?" the squirrel asked chuckling.

"No, you idjit," Azalea replied, "and by the sound of it you never will be. So, what brings you here, Donovan, eh?"

The brawny squirrel shrugged his soldiers. "Just passing through the forest."

Azalea lifted an eyebrow. She didn't believe him for a second. Donovan was never one to wander if there wasn't a purpose. The chipmunk knew him very well, and he had been the closest friend she ever had since Noah. She remembered the day she had first met Donovan, it was on her journey to Salamandastron. The two had bumped into each other, literally, after being captured by those dreadful toads and almost thrown down the pit. But slimy amphibians were no match for two seasoned warriors, and they escaped in no time. They discovered they had an identical destination, and became fast friends. This was the first time Azalea had seen her squirrel pal in a while, he had a wife and child and lived a good four day's journey away. Donovan and his bride, Luella, were continually trying to convince Azalea to move closer to them, but Azalea wouldn't budge. There were too many memories in her tree home, and she couldn't bear to leave the site of her long-gone friends. Besides, she enjoyed living alone, at least most of the time.

"Oh really?" Azalea replied, "and mice have sprouted wings and learned to fly?"

The squirrel laughed lightly. "You know me too well, Azalea, too well." He didn't answer her question, however. He just stayed silent, smiling a forced smile. Azalea noticed this, and quickly became concerned for her friend.

"Donno, what's wrong?" she asked quietly, compassion etched in her tone of voice. She was rapidly becoming worried now.

The dark squirrel sat down on the log next to Azalea and sighed, letting his shoulders slump and his head hang. It must be something serious, the chipmunk thought, he usually never lets anyone see he's upset. "Blauveer, he…he was playing in the forest with one of the other squirrel babes and…and he tripped and fell down a hole," Donovan fiddled with a blade of grass and refused to make eye contact with Azalea. "I guess he landed the wrong way, because he broke his neck, and…we didn't get there fast enough."

Azalea was beyond speechless. She was flabbergasted. Blauveer was Donovan's first and only child. Azalea could remember when she met the young squirrel; he was merely a few weeks old. He was tiny, but not frail. He grabbed her finger and held on tight. "This liddle tyke is gonna grow up a warrior, just like his mum and dad, yes he is," Azalea remembered saying. It felt like it was just yesterday, not two seasons ago. "Donovan, I'm…I'm so sorry."

The soldier was visibly sobbing now. "I just keep thinking it was my fault," he said miserably. "He wanted to go in the forest that day, and Luella didn't think he was old enough to go without parental supervision. I argued with her; I thought it was safe. So, he went," Donovan started to shake violently. "Little Veer was only three seasons old! How could I be so stupid and careless? How could I have let him go? I'm supposed to be a good parent."

Azalea patted her best friend's back. "It's not your fault, Donno. My parents would have let me do the same thing, yup yup. How're you supposed to know there was a pit in the forest, eh?" Donovan shrugged. There was an awkward period of silence, and Azalea just let her words linger for awhile. She looked to the sky, hoping that it would give her words of reassurance. She held back her tears, for she couldn't let Donovan see her cry when he was in such a state of misery. After a bit, she said, "Why didn't you send a message to me with the dipper? I would have come to you and Luella."

"I needed to get away for awhile," Donovan replied. "I couldn't bear the thought of staying there; too many things remind me of Veer. Even though, everything I see over here still reminds me of him." The squirrel finally looked up at Azalea. "I hope you don't mind me barging in on you like this."

"Of course not, you silly goose! You're welcome anytime at my home, yes you are," Azalea replied. Suddenly, she remembered Martin lying in her bed, shaking and sweating. "First off, Donno, I have to pay Polleekin a visit, yup yup. Care to tag along?"

"Sure," Donovan replied, the tone of his voice perking up the slightest. "May I ask what for?"

Azalea was already packing up her provisions and throwing the canteen over her shoulder. "I met a mouse fella yesterday, and he's staying at my tree house also, yes he is. He's in a bit of trouble, however."

"What kind of trouble?" Donovan asked. "Corsairs, slave masters, rat tribes? The two of us could take 'em on, Azalea," the smile returned to his face again. The thought of battle disturbingly seemed to cheer him up.

"Not that kind of trouble I'm afraid," replied the chipmunk, smiling as well. "He's having frequent attacks of the Bloodwrath, even when he's not in battle. Last night, he was having this horrible dream. He couldn't stop shaking, and I kept trying to wake him. Nothing worked, and this morning he was drenched in a cold sweat, yes he was. I have a hunch that the two are connected, so I'm paying Polleekin a visit. I bet all my acorns she'll have an answer to his problem, yes I do."

"Hmmm…" Donovan thought for a moment. "I bet the feather on my head she will too. But, I have a question for you, Azalea: Since when have you started using the word 'hunch'?"

The chipmunk took a playful swipe at her friend's ear. "The same time you became a buck-toothed, thick-headed nuisance."

Donovan laughed. "Who are you calling 'buck-toothed'? Your teeth are big enough to stop the flow of a river!"

"You little…" Azalea muttered, attempting to kick him in the shin. She had to admit, she was happy he was smiling and not dwelling on the loss of his son. She still felt horrible about it, however, and was sure Donovan would feel badly about it forever.

After a good-humored round of insulting, the two friends were traveling at a good pace northward. Breathing heavily after the tussle, Donovan asked, "So, what's this feller's name that you're helping out?"

Azalea turned to him with a smile brighter than the sun in the middle of summer. "Martin the Warrior, yup yup."

Word about Martin and his army defeating Badrang the Tyrant must have traveled fast around that area of the country, for Donovan's eyes were so wide you could see white all the way around. "_The _Martin the Warrior?"

"Why have you heard of any other mice with a title like that?"

* * *

The autumn sunlight bounced off a sharp metal object and caused the scarred soul to squint. He watched his reflection in the glimmering blade. His eyes should be widened with terror, but they weren't. He should be lying sprawled on the ground, screaming in pain, but he wasn't. Blood should have been dripping down his chest, splattering into a crimson pool at his feet, but it wasn't. There was no blood at all, except for the trickle down his wrist from the small cut on his palm. Martin felt absolutely no pain. He glanced downwards to the sword in his paws. It was barely touching his chest, in the same spot it was in before. His arms seemed frozen at his side. They would not budge; they would not thrust the weapon forward and bring the warrior to his death. And that's when he noticed the ghostly white paws holding his wrists in place. There was a figure standing behind him, keeping him from moving his sword. And it had paws that were white as the snow, freezing cold to the touch, and almost completely transparent.

Martin turned his head to the right as far as his joints would allow it. He was shocked speechless. He wanted terribly to scream bloody murder, to scream so loud it would alert all the creatures in Mossflower country. But he couldn't, he was scared so much no sound would come from his throat. He wanted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming, but this creature's paws were still grasping his wrists fiercely. There was a ghost standing behind him. And that ghost looked eerily like Rose.

She was...beautiful. As always. Everything about her, skin, fur, whiskers, clothes, was white. Martin could see through her to the other side of the tree dwelling. A bright yellow aura was illuminating her. Was she an angel? Her face was expressionless; she was not smiling, yet not frowning either. Her long, thick eyelashes were covered in another white substance. The warrior realized they were tears, for they were also dripping down her face. Her dress was not tattered; there was not one rip, tear or stain to be seen. She was perfect. Just like when she was alive.

The grip on Martin's wrists never faltered. She lifted one paw to reach out and grasp the hilt on his sword and pull it away from him. Martin, in total silence, let her take it. Rose cradled the sword in her arms, careful not to cut herself. She ran one finger along the surface of the blade, as if checking for smoothness. Her eyes lifted, and connected with Martin's stare. Looking into her gorgeous eyes, the desire to end his life left Martin. He was with Rose now, and that was all that mattered to him.

Suddenly, the angel, or ghost, (Martin never really figured out what she was) opened her mouth and spoke. Her voice was sweet and soft, like that of the tone a mother uses to lull her child to sleep.

"You no longer wish to visit the red,

You will find the right cure here.

The answer's locked safely in your heart,

You alone must venture there.

Start at the hidden dwelling of

She who befriended the fallen one.

Move eastward from your reflection,

For four rises and sets of the sun.

Reach the tribe of the dark warrior,

Continue along the rocks set high.

Defeat the cruel at the entrance of

A group of plants that touch the sky.

So dear friend, keep moving south,

And soon your sight will clear,

This scene is for the troubled only

Please be careful here.

A field of bloody bushes,

Tardy to bloom and decease.

Accept what you see, the answer is here,

And your anger and fear will soon cease."

Rose's voice rang clear, echoing in Martin's ears. He couldn't take his eyes of her. Nothing of what she just said processed through his mind. All he cared about in the world was her. He didn't care if she was a ghost, an angel, or a devil from Hell, she was _here. _Rose stared back into Martin's eyes, never saying a thing except for her poem. The bright light around her made her look like a heavenly messenger, sent to give Martin advice or a warning. In a way, she was exactly that, yet Martin had no idea. Finally, Rose let go of Martin's wrist and brought her paw up to his face. She stroked the fur along his muzzle, and traced a heart on his forehead. Her touch was icy, and it chilled the warrior mouse to the bone. Rose then laid the sword in her hands, her palms out flat, and held it out to Martin. He took it.

That gesture must have been a single for Rose to leave. She bowed her head as a tear trickled down her cheek. Within seconds, she was gone. She just vanished completely.

"Wait! Don't go," Martin cried, but it was too late. Rose was gone again. Only the light of the sun was left. Not even the aura about her was left. Martin looked into the blade of his sword and stared back at his reflection once more. His eyes were tired and had a glint of disappointment in them. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he asked himself aloud. "You were hallucinating, you idiot."

With that, Martin laid the sword on the nightstand and shook his head. "I seriously need some sleep." He crawled under the covers of Azalea's bed and closed his eyes. Within moments, he was fast asleep. It was a peaceful slumber, with no dreams of red mist or dead creatures haunting him. No sweating or shaking. In fact, Martin didn't dream at all that afternoon. He would have no memory of the ghostly encounter when he awoke the next day.


	7. Bridge to the Unknown

Sorry this chapter is so short! I promise the next one will be longer! Thanks again for all your wonderful reviews! Please R&R!

Also, my e-mail is

Sorry, that didn't come up right on my review.

Disclaimer: I don't own Redwall, or the lyrics to the song _The Clincher_ by Chevelle.

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January 12, 2005

Chapter 7

A million stars glimmered and sparkled in the night sky, like torches in a dark cave, flickering in and out. Azalea was lying on the floor of Polleekin's house, staring out the window at the sky. There was something about windows that interested her. She kept her thoughts about them safely locked in her own mind, she had not told a single soul about what she thought, not even Donovan. Anyone would say she was crazy and laugh. The funny thing was, Azalea knew she was crazy, but she didn't give a damn.

Azalea thought of windows as a bridge to the unknown. How one to know what is outside his or her home without looking out their windows? They wouldn't know it was raining or snowing or sleeting before they walked outside if it wasn't for windows. In a dark and empty room, wasn't the window the source of light and entertainment?

As the chipmunk stared out the window that night, she couldn't help but think about the unknown. Was there something else out there? Was there something after all this, like an afterlife of some sort? Was there such a thing as ghosts and angels? Undoubtably. How else would Polleekin know all she does? Something, or someone, was feeding her this information through visions and messages. Was Polleekin chosen by someone to help others? Was there an all-knowing power out there that controlled fate, destiny, and made the world go round? Was there such a thing as predestination? Azalea had never been one for religion, but she couldn't help but dwell constantly on these things, night after night, as she stared out her window. The thoughts lingered longer in her mind on this particular night however, for there was the somber, heavy mood of death about her. Donovan's child had died suddenly when he was only three seasons old. What kind of sick, power hungry freak would take away a child from his beloved family like that? And that's what confused Azalea greatly. No decent, unselfish creature would be in his right mind to do such a thing. The chipmunk wanted to meet this creature when she died, and give him a peace of her mind. But she was in no hurry. There were big things she had to work out before she moved on to the Gates of Dark Forest, one of which included Martin.

Azalea clutched the piece of parchment in her paws, reading the words over and over again in her head until she memorized them. She couldn't understand a bit of it, but then again, Polleekin clearly stated it was intended for Martin and nobody else. She sighed, looking to the stars once more, as if praying for an answer. She thought of Martin, lying in the bed, screaming for help. He had gone through too much at such a young age. And she would die herself before she let anything or anyone break his heart again.

Azalea wasn't the only one lying in their beds in deep thought. Donovan was wide awake, watching Azalea. Something is on her mind besides that riddle, he thought to himself. She hadn't noticed he was awake, for he was staying perfectly still. A true warrior knows how to fake sleep in the most dangerous of situations, and that skill can be applied to everyday life too. With one eye open, Donovan watched his friend stare out the window, the twinkling of the stars catching her eye.

Those stars reminded Donovan of the many nights he would stay up late with Blauveer, watching the comets and making out shapes with the stars. Those were some special times, and the dark squirrel remembered every one of them. He would play them back in his mind like a movie, and found himself doing it more often as the days went by. Little Veer would be giggling and pointing at the stars, having the time of his life. Donovan would swell with pride at the sight of his son, laughing along with him. Those were the best times of his life too, the times with his son or with his wife and child together.

But he could no longer have that. Fate took Blauveer away from him in a cruel and sudden way. Donovan wanted to crush whoever controlled the lives of all creatures to a pulp. But he knew he had no control over what happened to his son, or even himself. He sometimes wondered if there was anything to life worth living anymore after his son passed. Sometimes he would slip into such a depression, he would sit on a log in the middle of a forest and weep. Sometimes, after the tears had dried, he would pull out his dagger, and point it at his chest. And then he would remember where he got that dagger. It was a gift from his wife when on his birthday after his son was born. The stones on it represented the color of each of their furs: one gold, for Luella, one black for Donovan, and the soft mahogany in the middle for Veer. This would cause Donovan to put down the blade, become ashamed of himself, call himself a horrible husband and father, and cry himself to sleep. The same pattern repeated almost daily.

Donovan closed his eyes and this time actually tried to go back to sleep. He wanted to go back to his dreams, because sometimes Blauveer would pop in.

The entire tree house was awake that night, and every creature was engrossed so much in their own thoughts they did not realize it. The hostess, Polleekin, lay in her four poster bed, staring at the ceiling. She sighed, troubled by the thoughts that coursed through her mind. She had been expecting Azalea and her friend to come to her home and she knew exactly what for. And it was this that made her close her eyes tightly and rub her forehead in confusion. Why was she the chosen one? Why did she have everyone's lives running through her mind like a film? Why was she the one to know everything before it happened?

Polleekin thought way back to when she first realized her gift. She remembered sitting in her wicker rocking chair one sunny, spring afternoon. She was knitting a cloak for one of her dearest friends and humming to herself. Before she knew it, she saw a squirrel walking towards her, strong and war-like, carrying a quiver of arrows over his back. The squirrel disappeared as quickly as he appeared. Polleekin thought she must have just dozed off, until the next day, the same squirrel came walking up the path near her home. It had been happening the same way ever since.

What troubled her most was Martin. She carried his life around with her everyday. She knew the pain he was feeling, how it felt so physical. She not only knew the pain from her visions, but also from experience. Her one true love died tragically and suddenly, also. Polleekin could remember everything about him, and it felt like someone pierced her in the heart with a knife when he died. Why did this have to happen to me? She remembered asking herself over and over again, cursing the heavens for taking away her beloved mole friend. After he died, Polleekin started having her visions. She thought of them as a gift from her friend, but sometimes it seemed more like a curse.

Polleekin hated sending Martin on his quest, but she knew that it would heal his heart after awhile. She had his life planned out along with hers, right inside her brain. She knew what day she would die, along with the days of death for Martin, Azalea, and Donovan as well. Polleekin wasn't scared of death. She was scared of leaving all her friends behind, leaving them with nobody to come to in times of need, confusion, or guidance. Like so many nights before, the elderly mole sat in her bed, crying herself to sleep.

A somber mood fell upon the little house in the giant oak tree. Three cheerless souls sat inside that diminutive dwelling, unknown they were all awake, acting just like the other, engrossed in their thoughts and thinking of the deceased. Had they known they were also being watched by a fourth cheerless soul, they would not have believed the informer. But it was completely true. A fourth soul, strictly just a soul, sat on the thick and heavy branch of a tree a tad northwest of Polleekin's home. His eyes never strayed from the window, as if he could see through it into all the rooms of the house, and not just the one. The leaves fluttered about from the soft autumn breeze, yet they went right through this witness. If any bystander had taken a closer look, they would have noticed that this creature was not actually sitting on the branch, but hovering in a sitting position directly above it. His nearly transparent body stayed rigid and still as he gazed at the peculiar house in the tree tops. If any bystander had taken yet another step closer, they would have noticed that this creature looked like a male mole. This mole sighed and shook his head sadly, then vanished.

_This body has left the soul._


	8. Warriors and Dippers

This isn't my best chapter, very boring to read and write so don't yell at me. I haven't had much time to write since I have quarterlies this week and a book report to start and an English paper. and then I have softball practice Tuesdays and Thursdays…so yeah.

I was really hoping that some of you would attempt the riddle! Oh well, it explains almost everything here, so if you come up with anything mail me at

Please R&R, and of course, thanks for all of your luverly reviews and comments!! ; )

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January 14

Chapter 8

The reds and golds of the leaves were tangled about each other in a gentle autumn breeze, drowned in the spotlight of the strong afternoon sun. They rustled against each other, creating a soft noise not unlike that of a rattlesnake. The shadows of the trees danced along the forest floor, creating ripples and waves along the grass. The whole forest was alive, swaying and rocking to the beat of Mother Nature.

Azalea sat in a chair in her tree home, staring out the window. She held a piece of parchment in her paws. The paper was wrinkled and creased so much some of the ink had already faded. Blotches of sweat were splattered in various places, a result of Azalea gripping it much too tightly as she waited for the muscle-toned figure lying in her bed to awaken. She and her squirrel friend had arrived at her dwelling a few hours early. Martin was still fast asleep, and he looked so peaceful it seemed a shame to wake him up.

Suddenly, the Warriormouse stirred. He slowly opened his eyes, and an expression of deep confusion swelled out over his features as he looked at the chipmunk staring out the window. "Azalea," he said, surprising his friend greatly, "I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow night?"

"Er, my dear fellow, today is tomorrow, if you catch my drift."

Martin turned quickly to the source of the voice that had just spoken. There was a deep grey, almost black, squirrel admiring the weapons in Azalea's armory.

"What?!" Martin asked as he sat up rather quickly, causing his head to spin a bit. "Who'n the name of fur are you?"

Azalea chuckled, pushing Martin lightly on his chest back to a laying position. "Whoa, don't get up so fast, you'll make yourself dizzy! An' don't worry, this is me friend, Donovan."

"Didn't mean to startle you there, my dear fellow. It's a pleasure to meet you," Donovan held out his paw for Martin to shake. The mouse noticed the squirrel's large, bulging muscles and felt his rough, calloused paw. He had the classic warrior look about him.

"Were you once a member of the Gawtrybe?" Martin asked, noticing the feather attached to Donovan's headband.

"Lord, no," the squirrel gestured towards his blue feather. "Twas a gift from my father. How did you come to know those fiends?"

Martin sighed and smiled. "Well, to make a long story short, I almost killed their leader, and then the rest of 'em nearly knocked my friends and I off the side of a mountain. A few weeks after that, they joined my army and helped defeat Badrang the Tyrant."

Donovan laughed aloud. "That should make an interesting tale at the least!"

"Uh, may we cut the chit-chat and get down to business? We have quite a bit o' thinkin' to do, yes we do." Azalea interrupted. "Martin can tell you more once we get a few things sorted yet, I'm sure. First off, Martin, we just came back from Polleekin's place, yes we did."

Martin looked puzzled. "But I thought you said you would be gone two days. How come it only took you a day to make the trip?"

"Excuse me, but that's where my first comment, however rude, comes into play." Donovan replied while inspecting an old corsair's sword. "We have been gone about two days."

Martin collapsed into the bed, rubbing his eyes. "I've been asleep for a whole day and night!"

"It probably did your head a cheek-load of good, yup yup," Azalea said. "Anywho, now that you're awake, you can take a peek at this thing here. It's from Polleekin, and she says that if you decipher it and follow it, you'll find the cure to your Bloodwrath n' everything, yes she did."

Martin took the battered parchment from the chipmunk and stared at it. The writing was barely legible and fading already, probably from someone clutching it too tightly. He read the words to himself.

_You no longer wish to visit the red_

_You will find the right cure here_

_The answer's locked safely in your heart_

_You alone must venture there._

_Start at the hidden dwelling of_

_She who befriended the fallen one_

_Move eastward from your reflection_

_For four rises and sets of the son._

_Reach the tribe of the dark warrior_

_Continue along the rocks set high_

_Defeat the cruel at the entrance of_

_A group of plants that touch the sky._

_So, dear friend, keep moving south_

_And soon your sight will clear_

_This scene if for the troubled only_

_Please be careful here._

_A field of bloody bushes_

_Tardy to bloom and decease_

_Accept what you see, the answer is here_

_And your anger and fear will soon cease._

Martin scratched his chin, completely perplexed. "And this is supposed to help? Sounds like a load of crap to me."

Azalea playfully swatted at the mouse in the bed. "Could you be a bit more optimistic, eh? We have to break it down line by line, and see if we can make anything out of it, yup yup."

"Well, let's look at the first two lines then," Martin said. "'You no longer wish to visit the red; you will find the right cure here.' That's basically just telling us if I want to stop getting the Bloodwrath all the time, I have to find the cure here in this riddle."

"That doesn't tell us much," Donovan replied, who had finally stopped checking out Azalea's many weapons for more than two minutes. "I think we can skip those and go to the next ones."

"'The answer's locked safely in your heart, you alone must venture there'. That doesn't help either, except that the answer's somewhere in my heart and obviously nobody else knows what's in there. Hey, the next ones sound like a clue to me! 'Start at the hidden dwelling of she who befriended the fallen one'."

"Let's see," Azalea thought aloud, "who do we know that has a fallen friend?"

"My son fell down a hole," Donovan replied, sounding more confident than he looked. "But he didn't have any little friends that were female."

Martin scratched his head in frustration. Why did Polleekin always have to give directions in riddles? His mind raced with everyone he knew, trying to think of someone who fell. Pallum, Grumm, Brome, Felldoh, Boldred… "Felldoh!" he shouted. "Felldoh has a form of the word 'fallen' right in his name, and he became a fallen hero after he attacked Badrang."

"Nice job, Martin!" the chipmunk said. "I befriended Felldoh once, and I have a hidden dwelling, yes I do. Do ya think that might mean me house?"

"I dare say, you both sound correct," Donovan replied, handing Martin a charcoal stick. "Write down the directions on the back of the riddle."

Martin turned the paper over and scrawled _1. Start at Azalea's house. _"Now we're getting somewhere!" He read the next two lines hurriedly. "'Move westward from your reflection for four rises and sets of the sun.'"

"Well, four rises and sets of the sun means four days," Donovan assumed, "but the line before it stumps me."

Obviously, it stumped Martin and Azalea as well. They all sat about pondering the line of the riddle for a bit. Martin started chewing a hang claw, looking at the yellow piece of parchment before him with an unfaltering stare. He swore he had heard these words before, although he couldn't quite pinpoint from whom. All he could remember from the day before was a very bright glow around…someone. He shook his head, wondering whether the two were connected and then further dismissing the subject from his mind.

"Maybe it means something you can see your reflection in, like a mirror," Azalea finally said, breaking the silence and snapping Martin permanently from his thoughts. "Anyone know where we can find a mirror?"

"Don't look at me," Donovan said, "The only reflection I can think of is the kind that's starin' me in the face right now, but I doubt that's what Polleekin means." The squirrel was holding up yet another sword and gazing at the distorted image of himself that it produced in the shining blade.

Martin retreated back into his world of deep thought. He never used a mirror when he wanted to see his reflection. He needed haversack room for food and drink, not beauty accessories. The image of himself always appeared in water, like two days ago when he met Azalea, he was looking at his reflection in the little pond not twenty minutes from the tree they were sitting in now. "What about that little pond, where we ran into those corsairs two days ago?" the mouse asked his friends. "You can clearly see your reflection in it, and it's not far away from our starting point."

Azalea furrowed her brow. "That makes sense, yes it does. It definitely works with what we have of the riddle so far."

Donovan nodded to indicate he agreed with Azalea. "Write it down, lad. It's better than what I've come up with."

Martin wrote _2. Move east from the little pond for four days _on the back of the parchment. "The next two lines say, 'Reach the tribe of the dark warrior; continue along the rocks set high.' Do we know any dark warriors and rocks set high?"

"Ah, a part I can be of some help with," Donovan said with a smirk. "I'm the dark warrior, and I also have a tribe four day's worth of traveling from here. The 'rocks set high' would probably mean cliffs, which goes well with the line before it, as my tribe is along the cliffs."

"But how do we know you're the dark warrior for sure, eh?" Azalea interrupted. "You're a warrior with dark fur, but Martin is also a warrior with dark fur, albeit it is a smidgen lighter than yours, yes it is."

"You never thought there was something about my past you didn't know about, did you Azalea?" the squirrel replied, laughing aloud. "Did you think I was not capable of keeping something to my bloody self?"

"Well spit it out, if you've got something to say!" Azalea fumed. "You think you're so smart, acting like ya know everythin' 'bout everythin', yup yup." The chipmunk comically mumbled to herself.

"Don't be so uptight, Zalie," Donovan replied, sounding extraordinarily like a prissy, female Dibbun.

"Zalie?" Martin asked, one eyebrow lifted and smiling at the grumpy chipmunk sitting next to him. "What'n the name o' fur kind of nickname is that?"

Azalea lifted the pillow of the bed and chucked it at Donovan, who was now laughing hysterically. "Good going, Donno! Way to embarrass me in front of me guest!" She folded her arms across her chest and sat back against her chair in a huff. "Just go back to your riddle and figure it out if you're so smart, yes you will."

"Ahem. Before I was rudely interrupted," Donovan glared in Azalea's direction. She didn't notice him, for she was looking out the window with her fingers in her ears. "I was explaining how I know I'm the dark warrior. For starters, I have a tribe four days east from here along the cliffs. And when I was but a few seasons old, my mother told me once that my name, Donovan, meant 'dark warrior' in some ancient language or another. She named me that because she hoped I would become a great warrior like my father one day, and I had the darkest fur she had ever seen on a squirrel, besides from that of a tale of some great black female squirrel by the name of Ranguvar, or something like that."

"Ya know, you could've just told me that instead of getting' all flippity at me," Azalea said, finally removing her fingers from her ears. "Write it down, Martin."

Martin did as he was bid and thanked Donovan. "I'd love to hear your story after we figure out this condemned riddle. You sound like a great soldier."

Donovan shuffled his paws along the floor. "Well, my life isn't that impressive, but…"

"Just read the rest of the damned poem, will ya?" Azalea blurted out. She obviously didn't like her best friend hogging the spotlight.

"It says, 'defeat the cruel at the-'what the…?"

A small bird unexpectedly flew through the window at the exact moment. He landed smoothly on the foot of the bed Martin was sitting in. It was a dipper, and he pranced around on the blanket, apparently very pleased with himself for coming to the tree dwelling. Martin reached out to pet the friendly looking bird, when he noticed a rolled up piece of bark tied with a ribbon around the little bird's neck.

* * *

This was the part of the riddle I am most proud of. If you look on , the name 'Donovan' means 'dark warrior' in an old language called Gaelic. 


	9. Sealed with Love

Sorry it took me so long to bang out this chapter. It might take equally long for the next one, as I'm battling a mild case of writer's block. It's not fun. Anywho, please R&R and thanks to everyone who has replied with wonderful reviews!

Disclaimer: Don't own Redwall. Belongs to the almighty Lord Brian Jacques. I also don't own the lyrics to _Living Rooms_, they belong to the band Revis.

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January 21, 2004

Chapter 9

The sky was a mild autumn blue, and afternoon shadows stretched long and thin. Clouds smothered the hills and left the entire landscape appearing like it was enveloped in soft cotton. Birds chirped ceaselessly, and the gentle breeze whispered secrets to all who was outside on that lovely day.

A solitary mouse stood with her back to the village in this certain valley. Her earrings tinkled in the wind, and her dress ruffled about her. Her eyes, a deep chocolate brown, stared straight ahead; they were emotionless, as emotionless as the expression on her face.

I need to get out of the house, she thought as she grabbed a light cloak and raced out the door of the thatched building. Her husband was seething with rage, but she didn't care. The hell with him! She was an adult; she could do whatever she felt like. She didn't care if he didn't say another word to her for a season, she was happy with her decision and her mind was firmly set. Her mind played the entire scene over in her head again.

"Listen to me!" her husband yelled, not five minutes before. "I will not allow that creature anywhere near our community!"

"You have a bad habit of holding grudges," the female mouse replied, folding a piece of parchment.

"Holding grudges? You think I'm holding a _grudge_?" the bearded mouse was now beet red in the face, his temper rising to a dangerous level. "He _killed _her!"

"He did not _kill _her!" Her paws were trembling as she fumbled to seal her letter. "Did _he _throw her against a stone wall and crush her skull? NO!" The frustration and tenseness in the room could fill an ocean.

"I said it once, and I'll say it again," her husband replied in a fierce whisper, "that mouse will not set one paw in this valley."

The female whistled loudly. A small dipper, with a giant smile plastered to his face, came soaring in through the opened window and landed rather clumsily on the desk in front of them. The mouse stared at her husband with an unfaltering gaze, tied the parchment to the dippers feet with a red ribbon and said, "You will not stop me, Urran Voh." She turned to the dipper. "You know who to find. We discussed it earlier today." The dipper turned and flew out the door.

A single tear ran down the cheek of the beautiful mouse as the scene ran through her mind. What was done was done, however. There was no calling back the dipper, and if her husband was too thick-headed and stubborn to see things her way, so be it. She sighed, looked up at the sky, and walked away from her daughter's grave.

* * *

Martin reached for the small, folded parchment tied to the claws of the dipper. He stared transfixed at the little bird. Why was his mind playing tricks on him so much? Everything he saw reminded him of something that he just couldn't put his paw on. First the riddle, now this dumb little bird.

"Read the note, Martin" Azalea said eagerly, "obviously it's come to the right place and that letter is meant for someone in this tree, yup yup."

Martin obliged, although he was more puzzled and interested in the smiling dipper than the parchment attached. He untied the ribbon and unfolded the small paper very slowly, careful not to tear it in any way. His eyebrows furrowed as he read the fairly long letter. His expressionless lips creased into a frown as his eyes darted along the page. His paws began to tremble, all the while the soft dark eyes of the warrior growing steadily angrier, redder with hatred.

Meanwhile, Azalea's eyes grew steadily wider with terror. What could that simple note possibly say to make her new friend so angry? She would not find out for quite a period of time, for Martin leaped out of the bed, yelling. He tore the parchment in two, crumpled the pieces in his fists, and stormed out the door.

"Martin!" the chipmunk called after him, beginning to rise from her chair.

A firm paw grasped her arm, stopping her from following Martin. "Leave him be," Donovan said in a calm tone. "He'll be okay; he just has to get it all out of his system. Although I would like to know what was on that piece of parchment that got him all riled up."

* * *

The Warriormouse went storming through the undergrowth of the forest, cursing under his breath and hot tears of anger pouring down his face. He didn't remember barging through Azalea's specially carved door, unaware of his own strength. He didn't remember leaping from branch to branch of the tree, unaware of his own fears. He didn't remember Azalea calling his name in anguish, unaware of his own surroundings. His right paw clenched his father's sword, which he did remember to grab before leaving, and in his left was the crumpled up letter. His eyes began to burn from the red mist, his chest heaving in and out as he ran like the wind, not heeding the prickly nettles on the forest floor or the sharp twigs piercing his footpaws. He felt one thing: anger.

_How could she even THINK of doing such a thing?_ Martin thought to himself. He had a hard enough time dealing with her haunting memories, never mind having to face her family. He had let them down, and he did not intend on making things tougher on himself and them.

The mouse kicked a stone that was in his path. He didn't feel the stinging pain that arose in his toe; he was totally oblivious to everything in sight. _Why did it have to happen to me?_ His mind raced with questions of guilt. _Damn you stupid little dipper! _He still couldn't think of where he had met that bird before. _Damn you Aryah! _Why would she send him a letter like that? _Damn you Polleekin! _Why couldn't she have warned him? _Damn you Badrang the Tyrant! _Why did he have to ruin Martin's life? This wasn't the first time some greedy and bloodthirsty vermin screwed up everything. _Damn you Brome! _Why did you have to get his hopes up? _Damn you Rose! _Why did you have to die?

Martin collapsed in a heap onto the leaf-strewn ground, sobbing uncontrollably, the torn letter still in his paws.

It was not long before the mentally and physically exhausted Martin fell asleep on the ground. His paws twitched like a dog's in his slumber, mumbling something indistinguishable under his breath. His dreams quickly turned to nightmares, and all of them started and ended the same way. At first, it was quiet, and Martin felt happy and peaceful. But then, everything would start to go red again, like he was getting the Bloodwrath. Yet, Rose was always standing beside him through the entire dream. She felt so real, and looked so real. Martin would try to reach out and touch her, but that only made her move farther away.

Another dream started up again, this time with Martin sitting in Noonvale. Everything was silent, even the birds weren't singing. The entire valley was completely empty, except for Martin, sitting by the spring. Rose was sitting next to him. She looked so beautiful, so calm. Martin didn't dare try to speak to her or touch her, because that always resulted in her departure. Instead, he contented himself with gazing into her soft, dark eyes lovingly.

A dangerous red mist started to creep within the warrior's vision. He shook his head violently and closed his eyes. He wouldn't let it come back again. He needed to see Rose, and the Bloodwrath just got in the way of everything. His eyes blinked furiously, ridding himself only momentarily of his rising anger.

Rose stood up and started to turn. _No! Wait, please don't leave! _Martin's voice screamed inside his head. He battled the oncoming trance as firmly as he battled his enemies. He wouldn't let her leave this time…

_So what's your purpose for me? With your intentions in the air…_

Martin looked around, bewildered. That sounded like his very own voice, yet he hadn't spoken. His mind wasn't playing tricks on him either, for Rose had stopped in her tracks, turned, and stood gazing at Martin. The red was fading.

_So what if I wanted to ask you if I could meet you there?_

There it was again! Martin was reciting something, yet his mouth had not moved. The voice of the warrior echoed all around the two mice. Rose wasn't leaving, and the red was fading evermore. The warrior willed his mind to speak again.

_Go inside I'm coming through, for you. _

Rose was walking back towards Martin. Those words, if they were from a song, or a poem, or whatever, they were keeping away Martin's Bloodwrath at bay and keeping Rose near. If only the Warriormouse knew why he was saying this, if he knew the meaning of these words.

_We watched each other escape from the commotion that we knew. The way our languages fade in through an empty living room._

Rose crouched beside Martin and cupped her paws. She dipped them into the water.

_Go inside, I'm coming through, into a world that you surround. Show me now, I'm here with you. For you._

The beautiful mouse raised her arms, pulling her cupped paws out of the water. Martin could see through the spring into the blurred image of an object of some sort sitting in Rose's paws. It was red.

_Go inside, I'm coming through, into a world that you surround. Show me now, I'm here with you. For you._

Martin was jerked awake by a female voice and two strong paws shaking him gently.

* * *

Azalea had left her tree home once it started raining. Donovan tried to reassure her and keep her inside, but the determined chipmunk refused. "I'm not letting Martin stay out in the rain all night, no I'm not," she persisted. "He'll catch his death o' cold out there."

"You're not his mother," Donovan called after his friend as she walked out the door into the pouring rain. "You won't listen to a bloody thing I say." The warrior knew Martin just needed some alone time and he would come back when he was ready. That's exactly how Donovan had felt himself after Veer died. He was sure Martin's behavior and bouts of Bloodwrath were connected with the death of a loved one.

The lone chipmunk wandered through the forest, calling Martin's name aloud. It was not long before she came across the mouse-like lump lying on the ground, completely soaked. She crept quietly up to him, and then noticed the torn letter, crumpled in Martin's paws. She removed it gingerly, careful not to wake the sleeping figure. Squinting in the rain, she held the two pieces of parchment together and tried to make out the words.

_Dear Martin,_

_I hope I'm not causing you any trouble or pain by sending you this letter, and hopefully Dipper is bringing this to the right beast. I'm not one to beat around the bush, so we'll get right to the point. I am inviting you to come back to Noonvale. You don't have to stay long, I just would love to see you again, and I'm sure your friends Grumm, Pallum, Brome and Rowanoak would love to see you as well. I do not hold a grudge to you, it was not your fault what happened to Rose happened. It was in no way under your control. My husband might not see things the way I do, but hopefully by the time you get here I will have convinced him. You need not bring anything with you, except for your great sword. I know how warriors are now, and you are allowed to keep it with you at all times. Please come to Noonvale, Martin the Warrior. I'm sure Rose would have wanted you to._

_With love,_

_Aryah_

Azalea stood, gazing at the letter in complete shock. She looked at the shivering Martin, and felt like she was going to burst into tears. The noble and courageous warrior, who risks his life for the safety of others, kept hidden in his heart a tale so tragic he couldn't say it aloud. It was then that Azalea knew the answer to the riddle.

"Come on, buddy," the chipmunk shook the sleeping mouse. "We're going home."


	10. The Journey Begins

Hey guys! Thanks for all your reviews! I'm sorry if chapters seem short yet they take a few days to be posted. I've got a Health project due Wednesday I have to work on and I was bombed with English homework. Also, I went to a school dance last night and now my neck kills from headbanging so much. Anyway, enough with my rambling. Here's the next chapter, please R&R!

Disclaimer: >> I don't own Redwall, unfortunately.

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January 25, 2005 

Chapter 10

Donovan rubbed the inside corners of his eyes. He hadn't slept well the night before. The strong squirrel always had a hard time sleeping while others were awake; something about their presence made him jumpy, for it always felt like they were watching him. Donovan guessed Martin hadn't batted an eyelid the entire night. The sun had gone down, and the mouse still lay on his back in the bed, staring at the ceiling. Azalea pretended to sleep in the chair, although she was really up into the small hours, making sure Martin was okay. And, of course, the pair's antics allowed Donovan only a few hours of peaceful slumber. The dipper, who had decided to stay for a short while, was probably the only one who had a decent night.

The sun blinded the squirrel momentarily. He heard the sounds of cupboards opening and closing, the clatter of scallop shells being thrust into haversacks, and Azalea's constant mumbling. "Where are you heading to so early in the bloody morning?"

The chipmunk didn't cease her frantic actions. "We're _all _heading out, yup yup." She closed one sack and opened another.

"Oh joy, an adventure at two hours past dawn," he replied sarcastically. He stood up an put on his belt, thrusting his newly polished dagger into a sash at his side.

"Will you wake Martin for me, eh? We really need to get a move on, yes we do."

The squirrel obliged, for once, and shook the still form in the bed. "Up and at 'em, laddie, we've got a busy day ahead of us." A look of puzzle came across his face. "By the by, Azalea, where _are _we going?"

"We're going wherever that riddle tells us, yes we are." She finished tying the cord on the last haversack and smiled at Martin.

"But the riddle says that I'm supposed to find this place by myself," replied the mouse, speaking for the first time since he received the note from Aryah. "And, if I'm not mistaken, I'm supposed to do exactly as it says."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," Donovan said, shouldering a sack full of food and drink. "The only part it says you must see alone is the place with the bushes of blood or whatnot. It never says we can't tag along until then."

The Warriormouse smiled. "Well, I guess having some friends along might be useful. You never know if those vermin we encountered a few days ago might pop up again."

Azalea laughed. "I think we sent those fellahs packin', yes we did!" She handed a sack and canteen to Martin. "Well, are we all ready?"

"Not yet," the mouse replied. He reached over for the riddle and put it in his pocket. Then he grabbed a strip of bark from the drawer in the nightstand and the piece of charcoal. He wrote a few sentences, and then tied it to the leg of the dipper. "Bring this to Aryah. Send everyone at Noonvale my regards." The little dipper gave Martin a crooked smile, saluted, and flew off into the morning sun.

For the first time in a season, Martin felt very close to being happy. _Happy _was a feeling he very much underestimated before that certain day, when he and his two newfound friends left a hidden dwelling in a very tall tree in the middle of the forest for a grand adventure. The warrior always loved an adventure, especially if it was to his aid. Now Martin walked blissfully along, letting the sun bathe his face in its soft, liquid-like glow. He tried to confine his thoughts to how great the day was, but he kept drifting. What was this… _thing _that was supposed to help him deal with his unpredictable Bloodwrath? Was it a "magic" potion? A special herb that could heal the mind? And what were "bloody bushes"? Martin silently prayed his journey would not result in his friends' bloodshed.

Azalea the chipmunk walked along with her pals, thoughts swimming through her head. She felt as though her brain was an ocean and everybody around decided it was a nice day to go for a paddle. Everything came back to that letter sent by that someone named Aryah. Obviously, she was the mother of Rose and lived at Noonvale. But what could possibly give her the notion that Martin would like to return to that place, and face his one true love's friends and family? How could she think he would be able to bear seeing them again with the false guilt of Rose's death buried in his heart? Azalea clung to the cure in her ocean of a mind.

Donovan kept his eyes to the ground, watching his footpaws tap the earth. He hoped he wouldn't bump into anything. He tried to keep his mind clear, but every time it emptied, it would quickly fill up again with images of Blauveer. The squirrel clenched his dagger hilt, willing the annoying lump in his throat to go away. He pulled the parchment with the riddle on it out of his trouser pocket and turned it over. "Well, we've left Azalea's house," he finally said, "and this is the correct way to the pond?"

"That it is, yup yup," Azalea replied. "I know the way to that liddle pond like the back of me own paw!"

Martin chuckled. "You know, I've never really understood that saying. I don't spend that much time staring at the back of my paw."

"I figure 'knowing the way like I know my own name' would be more appropriate, do you think, Azalea?" Donovan said.

"Ya know, if we weren't already at the stinkin' pond, I'd sock the two of ya."

They stopped in front of the water, watching the breeze create tiny ripples across the surface. Martin strode over to it and looked at his reflection. _Move eastward from your reflection for four rises and sets of the sun._ Scorching eyes stared back at him, a deep and distinctive red. He could make out the face of a mighty badger in the clear liquid. He whipped his head around, expecting to see the massive creature standing behind him, but nobeast was there.

"You all right, Martin?" Azalea asked her surprised friend.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just thought I saw something in the water, that's all." He looked up at the sun and judged its position. He pointed northeast. "That's the direction we should be traveling in, friends. Four days worth, am I right?"

"Correct," Donovan replied. "Now are we going to sit around here all day staring at the bloody water, or get a move on?"

The three friends set out in the early morning light, traveling in an eastern direction, completely unaware of the set of eyes watching them from the forest.

The gang had set a brisk pace and had covered quite a bit of ground by mid morning. It was four hours past dawn when Azalea un-shouldered his haversack. "This looks like a good spot to sit and have a bite of brunch, yup yup."

"We can't have brunch if we haven't even had breakfast yet, you dimwit." Donovan corrected.

"Dimwit yourself, smarty-pants. Me stomach doesn't care what meal 'tis, as long as it's getting fed."

Martin couldn't help but laugh at the antics of his two friends. "Do you always talk to each other like this?"

"When you've been friends with a complete fruitcake like Azalea, laddie, you'd be talking the same way, I assure you." Donovan chuckled.

"We mean each other no real harm, no we don't. And it can be quite fun, once you get used to it." The chipmunk started laying out oatcakes and a canteen of cold mint tea.

"When I was looking through your cupboards, all I saw was nuts, berries and water," Martin said, noticing the variety of foods in Azalea's haversack. "Where did you get all those?"

"What, ya think I'd leave all me goods laying 'bout for beasts to snatch, eh? I do use secret squirrel doors to hide cupboard doors, too, ya know."

The trio sat munching on the oatcakes Azalea provided and letting the sunlight of the young day fall upon them. It was very peaceful and quiet. Suddenly, a muffled cackle sounded from the foliage about them.

Instinctively, Martin drew his sword and Donovan drew his dagger. "Who's there?" the mouse called boldly. "Show yourself!"

Another cackle was heard, this time a little louder. "Heeheeha! Irritar clever! Mousey not like!"

Azalea's face showed annoyance. "That's the voice of a tree rat, yes it is. Ignorant and wild liddle things, although they usually stay in the south. It's no use to try and reason with 'em, they've got fewer brains than a guppy on his deathbed, yes they do. We're better off just knockin' him senseless."

Donovan flipped his dagger over in his paw so he was holding the blade. "My hilt should do the trick. Azalea, stay here and guard the food and drink. We'll be back in a tick."

"Are you implying that females are the weaker gender? I'm the one who told you about tree rats for cryin' out loud!" Azalea replied, always in the mood for an argument.

"No," Donovan said jokingly, "I'm implying that your face might scare the idiot off before we can knock him out. Lead the way Martin."

"Hahahee! Irritar want eat! Eat mousey!"

Martin laughed awkwardly. "I hope I don't look too appetizing."

"You look like no bloody summer salad to me, laddie. Come on now," the squirrel pushed his way through the undergrowth. "We must be getting closer."

"Irritar see mousey! Irritar kill mousey, heehee!" The recognizable voice of Irritar the tree rat could be heard above them. He was sitting in the boughs of a giant oak tree. His face was painted with faded juices of berries and was much smaller than normal rats. His teeth were sharpened and yellow, and his eyes were larger from adaptation. A wicked smile played across his lips as he began chucking acorns down at the pair below him.

Martin held his arms over his head to keep the bothersome objects from hitting him in the face. "Would you like the honor of climbing up the tree and pounding that wretched creature?"

"I'd love to," Donovan replied. He clenched his blade in his teeth and scaled the trunk of the tree with the speed and agility capable only capable of a squirrel warrior. He hopped onto the limb Irritar was standing on and gave the rat a formidable punch in the jaw that sent him toppling over the edge. Alarmingly, the tree rat landed on the ground on all fours. With an evil shine in his eyes, he launched himself at Martin. But the mouse was used to quick creatures, and he was one himself. He did a fast side step and thrust his sword through the rat's unprotected chest.

"You don't mess around, do you laddie?" Donovan said as he landed nimbly beside Martin.

"Sorry," the mouse replied, pulling his sword from the limp creature's body, "I know Azalea said to just knock him out, but I didn't have time to think about it. This guy was pretty quick."

"Aye, that he was," the squirrel said smiling at Martin, "but not as quick as you."


	11. My Perfect Enemy

Finally, the next installment! I know, I know, it's WAY too short, my apologies. I could massacre you with my "reasons" for not making this longer and getting it out sooner, but you would probably skare your heads, roll your eyes, and mutter "Excuses, excuses" under your breath. So, I'm cutting the crap and getting right to the story! Thanks again everyone for your great support! Please RR!

**Riverdoe: **I'm pretty sure that Polleekin lives inside the trunk of the tree, not on the limbs itself, so she would be able to have a bed inside the trunk, like Azalea. And as for the hare thing, you've just given me a fanfabulous idea! Thanks so much!

Disclaimer: For the umpteenth time, I don't own Redwall, just the plot of this story. Brian Jacques is the Almighty Owner of Redwallish-ness. I also don't own the lyrics to the song _Passive, _A Perfect Circle does.

* * *

February 2, 2005 

Chapter 11

Azalea sat next to the haversacks and canteens, taking in her surroundings. They weren't too far into the forest, and the foliage was only fairly dense. The forest path wasn't due east as they were traveling, so they abandoned it and made their way through the undergrowth. The chipmunk had been very careful about leaving a trail, so they tread carefully and tried not to upset any fallen branches. She had doubted they were being followed until Irritar, or whatever the name of the tree rat was, appeared. She could only hope her friends were giving him a good thrashing.

Azalea was nibbling on an oatcake when Martin and Donovan emerged from behind a rather large oak tree. She smiled when she saw them. "So, did ya use the ol' 'knock 'em out, tie 'em up' method, eh?"

Donovan chuckled as he watched Martin guiltily wipe his blood-stained blade on the grass. "Well, your pal Martin here had a better idea."

Azalea noticed the culpable mouse as well. "Aw, Martin, ya great bully! You just had to run him through, didn't ya?"

The warrior shrugged his shoulders. "Well, instinct just took over, I guess."

"No matter," Azalea replied as she passed around a canteen of cold mint tea, "it was just a tree rat anyways. We'd better get a move on, though, yes we should."

Martin wiped his lips with his shirt sleeve. "Let's head out, friends."

* * *

The ocean's salty water sloshed against the high, rocky cliffs three and a half days from the travelers. A beautiful, but very strong-looking squirrel sat on the edge of one of the cliffs and stared out at the sea of sparkling green and blue. She was cross-legged, handling a soft, blue feather. The feather was a symbol of everything that mattered to her in the world. Her husband, a warrior like herself, wore a feather just like the one she was holding in his headband. They had found it when they were walking along the same beach that was below her. It was floating along the breeze, as if wandering until it found a suitable resting place. 

"Look at this feather here," her husband, Donovan, said suddenly. "I bet it would look just stunning in your fur."

She had laughed, and stuck it in her tail fur. It did indeed look stunning, but every time she made the smallest movement, the feather would fall out. "Oh, dear," she said, "I don't want to lose it. Here, put it in your headband!" She stood and placed it in the Indian-style headband of the dark furred squirrel.

"It does stay put quite well," her husband said rather sadly, "but now you won't have it with you all the time."

"I know," she replied, "but every time I look at it on you, it will remind me of this moment."

The squirrel sat silently, embracing the scene that played through her mind. The couple decided to settle and start a family right on the cliffs above that beach. Soon, others began to settle there as well. Keeping to their culture, they created a tribe. Days turned to weeks, which turned into seasons. But something was missing from their lives, until the birth of their first child.

"We'll name him Blauveer," the female squirrel said when she cradled the small being in her arms. "It means 'blue feather' in an old language my father used to teach me as a child. It can be after that blue feather that started it all."

Yes, the single blue feather that started it all. It started their tribe, their community, their closely knit circle of friends. Luella didn't know how she could make it without her wonderful friends. They were definitely more like family to her. And her husband, Donovan. Every time she looked at that feather in his headband, she couldn't help but think of the time she first laid eyes on her one true love. And her sweet child, Blauveer. Her first and only kin, a picture of laughter and strength. He was a born warrior, just like his parents, and destined to become great. Alas, his life was cut short by a tragic accident that left his parents in vain.

As Luella stared at the small feather in her paws, she felt the sudden amazement at the symbolism in such a simple object. Love, happiness, discovery, laughter, courage, strength, despair, hatred, loneliness. Loneliness was what she felt right now. She didn't have her son anymore, and her husband had left claiming he 'needed some alone time'. The squirrel couldn't blame him, however. He was taking Blauveer's death even harder than she was. He felt some how responsible for the accident, as if he had a choice in the future. And her friends, once so close and comforting, now felt distant. Maybe it was just a phase.

The loneliness surrounded Luella that bright day. She felt as lonely as the solitary feather in her paws. As lonely as the single tear running down her cheek.

* * *

"This looks like a good spot to set up camp," Martin stated as he let down the sack slung across his shoulder. "It's got shelter and it's secluded enough so we're pretty safe from being noticed." 

The mouse and his friends were inspecting a small area in the forest that was surrounded by ferns and under a very large maple tree. If it rained, they wouldn't get too wet, and all the foliage would conceal them from passerby. The sun had set and crickets were out. Martin and his traveling buddies were exhausted.

"Well, it seems like we've covered a bit of ground, yes it does," Azalea said, as she arranged a quick supper for the trio. "Only three more days and we should be at the location of Donno's tribe, yup yup."

The dark squirrel's eyes looked away from Azalea's and showed a sudden emptiness. He shook it off, and took a swig of water. "Aye, the sooner we get there, the sooner we can figure out this bloody riddle. My wife is quite good at 'em."

"I'd take another glance at the damned thing if I wasn't so tired," Martin replied. "I'm going to get some shuteye."

One by one, the friends finished their suppers and bedded down for the night. The air was filled with gentle snoring and a certain chipmunk's sleepy murmurings.

It was well into the moonlit night that Martin had a dream. The Warriormouse was walking along an old, dusty path. On either side of the path were endless fields of tall, dead grass tinted with different shades of nasty orange and brown. Swamps dotted the area, muddy and oozing about. Not a sound could be heard, not even a bird singing or crickets chirping. The wind even seemed to be on holiday. Martin looked about, taking in his foreign surroundings. A smell of decaying flesh reached his nostrils and almost caused him to retch. Small red pools were scattered about, marking the graves of fallen victims. The entire place looked a picture of death. It appeared to shout to Martin that nothing could live there, and nothing ever would.

As Martin walked along the deserted road, and spotted a figure lying near another one of those disgusting swamplands. He felt himself rushing towards it, thinking that it might be a dying creature. If he got there in time, he might be able to help him, save him. Martin reached the limp body. He rolled it over, and found himself staring at the agonized face of Badrang. The mouse went numb with fear. _He had killed Badrang, he was sure of it._

Despite his pain, the tyrant smiled back into the shocked face of the warrior. His eyes were cold and hollow, almost lifeless. They looked like swirling yellow and black pits in his skull.

_'Dead as dead can be' my doctor tells me. But I just can't believe him, ever the optimistic one._

What was with Martin lately? He could hear voices inside his head, yet the creature who was talking had perfectly still lips. And those creatures were either himself, or dead. And what the hell was Badrang talking about? His doctor told him he was dead. Of course he was dead, Martin had killed him. But Badrang didn't accept the fact…?

_I'm sure of your ability to become my perfect enemy._

Martin didn't like one bit of this. Martin was Badrang's perfect enemy, but why was the chanting being done only in Martin's head. Why was he even here?

_Wake up, and face me. Don't play dead, 'cause maybe someday I will walk away and say, 'You disappoint me.' Maybe you're better off this way._

Martin began to panic. What does it mean Badrang was disappointed in Martin? Did the stoat really want the mouse to rule Marshank with him? His mind was going in circles. _Badrang _was the one dying, or playing dead, or whatever, not Martin.

_Leaning over you here, cold and catatonic, catch a brief reflection of what you could and might have been. _

That was it! That was exactly it! Everything was backwards here. Badrang saw himself as leaning over a dying Martin, having fought him to his death. Badrang _had _really wanted Martin as a warrior for his army, and, obviously, Martin would have nothing of it. Now, instead of being a supporter, Martin was now the stoat's enemy.

_It's your right, and your ability, to become my perfect enemy._

But things still weren't making sense. Why was everything happening backwards? And what was Martin doing on this road of death? A sudden, terrorizing thought came into Martin's already paranoid mind. Was he on the path that leads to the Gates of Dark Forest?

_Wake up and face me. Don't play dead, 'cause maybe someday I will walk away and say 'You disappoint me.' Maybe you're better off this way._

No matter where he was, the mouse wasn't sticking around to find out. He started running in the same direction he had come from. A dying Badrang slowly stood, brandishing Luke's sword. Martin ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Chancing a look, he glanced backwards to find a still sadistically smiling stoat hot on his heels. For being dead, Badrang could run pretty fast, Martin thought.

_Go ahead and play dead. I know that you can hear this._

Martin stumbled, and tried to get back up onto his feet as quick as he could. When he looked up, a dark figure was standing several feet in front of him.

_Go ahead and play dead. Why can't you turn and face me?_

Martin thought the figure must be another creature that had died in his past.

_Why can't you turn and face me?_

His eyes connected with steely eyes of a warrior.

_Why can't you turn and face me?_

Those eyes belonged to a warrior, but not one that had died in his past. This creature was very much in Martin's present.

_Why can't you turn and face me?_

Martin was frozen with an icy fear. Donovan stood over him, an evil smile playing across his lips, with a large bow in his arms; the string stretched as far back as it would go. The bow was fully loaded, and the arrow was pointing straight as Martin's unprotected skull.

_You f- disappoint me!_


	12. Fight!

Sorry it's been so long since I last updated! I just haven't had much time. I promise the next chapter won't take as long. Please RR!

* * *

Chapter 12

The early morning sun did not keep the travelers at bay. Azalea and Donovan were already awake, eating quietly and staring at the riddle before them. Martin was still fast asleep, and the two friends decided against waking him. The dark squirrel took a long drink from his canteen of water and wiped his mouth with the back of his paw. "Well, we left off at this point, 'Defeat the cruel at the entrance of a group of plants that touch the sky.' Can you make any sense out of that lot?"

Azalea shook her head and sighed. "By the looks of it, Martin has to go into battle with some vermin or another at the entrance of Mossflower, yes it does. That part worries me, though. I was hoping we wouldn't run into any vermin on this here trip."

"It's inevitable, Azalea. We have to follow this riddle, especially if Polleekin gave it to us. That is, if Martin is ever going to have peace of mind again in his life," Donovan stood up and stretched. "We'd better get going if we want to get to the tribe in three days."

The chipmunk nodded. "I'll pack the stuff and put something together for Martin. I never knew a warrior that wasn't famished in the morning!"

Donovan knelt down beside the sleeping form and gently shook it. Martin grunted and opened his eyes reluctantly. "Rise and shine, buddy. We've got a long day ahead of us."

The warrior usually complained in the morning about how his friends should have woken him earlier and how he hated oversleeping. However, he was unusually silent, and his eyes were looked cold and empty.

"You all right there, Martin?" Azalea asked cautiously as she handed the mouse some water. "You don't look well, no you don't."

"I'm fine," he replied, shouldering one of the haversacks, "just a little tired, that's all."

Donovan chuckled. "A warrior, tired? We better start marching before dozy-chops here falls asleep again," he said jokingly. He quickly stopped laughing when he received a hard stare from Martin's red-rimmed eyes.

Azalea hastily changed the subject. "Is everyone ready to go?" Two heads bobbed in reply. "Let's head out then."

The day was cool, with a slight chill in the air. The three creatures hugged their haversacks closely to their bodies every time the wind whipped past them. Azalea cursed under her breath about not having brought a cloak with her. "Only two and a half more days till we're there, right Donovan?" she asked the burly squirrel.

"Hopefully. By the way the weather's looking though, it might be a full three days. The air's getting cooler earlier in the evening now. That means less traveling time for us." Donovan glanced over his shoulder at the shivering Martin. "At least we're getting closer to solving your problem." Martin shrugged and went back to staring at the ground passing beneath them. Donovan let out a small laugh. "Martin, you got a face on you like a flattened frog. What's the matter with you today?"

"Nothing's the matter with me," the mouse replied fiercely, his cold eyes staring right into the dark eyes of Donovan.

"Hey, no need to get offended, I was just asking a question."

"Then don't ask stupid questions."

Azalea could sense the danger level in the ear. "Hey guys, why don't you say we take a little break, eh? My paws are killing me, yes they are."

"Are you calling me stupid?" Donovan stopped walking and had turned around to face Martin.

"No, I was calling your question stupid. But, it did come out of your mouth, so…"

"What is your problem Martin? Before today, you were all gun-ho and buddy-buddy and everything, and today it seems like you're looking to pick a fight with someone."

"I'm not looking to pick a fight with someone. I wouldn't be arguing with you if you would just keep your damn mouth shut."

Donovan clenched his fists. "I can't believe you, Martin! I'm doing all I can to help you with your stupid riddle and find the cure to some 'illness' you have, when its probably all in your head. If you could just keep a hold of your short temper you wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Oh, it's all in my head? So I'm making all this up? Would you like to have the urge to kill your friends twice a day? Would you like to feel like you're swimming in blood for the rest of your life?"

Donovan's voice got a little quieter. "Listen, mate, I know how you feel…"

"You know how I feel, do you!" Martin exploded. "You know how it feels to lose your mother, all your friends, your grandmother and the love of your life? Do you know what it feels like to watch your father sail away when you're only a few season old and never see him again?"

Azalea tried calming the yelling mouse down, but to no avail. "Martin, come on, he gets it already."

"Yeah, I do get it," Donovan yelled back. "You think you should get all the sympathy because you've had _such _a tough life. Well guess what? I lost my son. He didn't die in battle like some hero friend of yours, he had an accident. But that doesn't-"

Martin interrupted him by snorting. "He had an accident? I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

That did it. Donovan snapped. He lunged at the mouse, digging his claws into Martin's shoulders. Martin howled, and sank his teeth into the squirrel's wrist, causing Donovan to let go of his hold on him. Taking advantage of the distraction, Martin shoved his opponent down to the ground and socked him in the nose. Donovan's eyes began to water and a small trickle of blood ran down to his mouth. Martin, his eyes aglow with the Bloodwrath, pulled the squirrel up to his knees and walked around him. He took Donovan's paws and held them behind his back. Donovan wasn't ready to give up however. He head butted Martin in the jaw, and an audible crack could be heard as one of Martin's teeth was knocked out.

Azalea could stand no more of it. "Stop it!" she yelled, "Stop it right now!" She grabbed Donovan by the small bush of hair on the very top of his head and Martin by the ear (none too gently either). With the strength of a full grown chipmunk warrior, she bashed the tow creatures heads together. "You impudent little idjits, cut that out right now, ya hear me?"

Martin spit out his broken tooth onto the ground, and the red mist started to fade from his eyes. A sizable lump was forming on his forehead where Azalea knocked it and a bit of blood showed on his ear from her claws. He glanced at the dizzy squirrel in front of him with hateful eyes. Donovan was wiping the blood from his nose and breathing heavily.

"Now," the chipmunk said forcefully and through clenched teeth, "will you two hot-headed warriors quit it? Arguing and fighting like two sea rats over a herring will get us no where, no it won't. You should be ashamed of yourselves, yup yup. Fist fighting other woodlanders., who would've thought? Now, you two apologize," she dug her claws deeper into the skin of the mouse and the squirrel for emphasis, "and mean it. Or else."

Martin stared into the vengeful eyes of the squirrel. "I'm sorry I provoked you. And sorry for being a jerk."

"Ditto," Donovan replied, holding out his paw. "Truce?"

"Truce." They shook on it.

"There ya go," Azalea said, finally letting go of the two males. "We better get a move on or we'll never make it to the tribe grounds, no we won't."

The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully. By sunset, the trio had cleared a lot of ground. They were almost out of the forest, as the trees weren't packed as tightly. They found a nice cave where they could light a small fire.

"Don't leave the fire on too long, Azalea," Donovan recommended. "There might be some unwanted vermin around that would be attracted by the light."

Azalea nodded. "I'd hate to be ambushed by a bunch of tree rats in the middle of the night."

One by one, each of the friends fell asleep. Martin was last, and he lay awake for quite awhile. He kept thinking about the strange dream he had the night before. It was wrong for him to pick a fight with Donovan all because of that dream. It was just a stupid nightmare that meant nothing. The mouse glanced over at the dozing squirrel. He was smiling and clutching his sword, having dreams of his own. Donovan was a true warrior, something Martin had wanted to be ever since he was a babe. He know had his father's sword back, but yet something felt missing. He felt he needed something else to be a warrior like his father was. He just couldn't place a finger on what it was, however. Martin sighed and closed his eyes. He thought he heard a soft hissing sound, and instinctively reached for his blade. There was nothing to be seen. _Must be the wind, _he thought. He noticed the fire was still blazing, and put it out with some canteen water. Laying back down, the mouse put his sword close to paw and rolled over. He fell fast asleep, dreaming of fire and possessed squirrels.

* * *

Several hours later, six pairs of eyes stared into the open mouth of the cave. Five of those pairs sat waiting for their leader to tell them what to do. One pair whispered aloud. "Hissssss, ven are ve going to attack dem, Sssire?"

The leader, a large grass snake, whacked the impatient one upside the head with his tail. "Ssshut up, you insssolent fool. Ve attack ven I sssay. Is de rabbit ssstill tied?"

Several heads bobbed up and down, and one snake pointed with his tail in the direction of a very large oak tree.Beneath the tree sat a hare, bound and gagged, and tied securely to the trunk of the tree. He was completely unconscious.

"It looks like de creaturess are asssleep, no?" The first grass snake piped up again.

"Yesss," the leader replied, his patience also ebbing away. "Everyone, remember vat I ssay. Do not disssobey the ordersss I gave you earlier. Go quiet like."

The group spilt up in sections, each taking a different path. The sleeping friends in the cave were oblivious to their surroundings.


	13. NOTICE! PLEASE READ!

**NOTICE:**

**PLEASE READ!**

**Because of the recent news on this fanfiction will be removed in 5 days! The recent news states that any fanfictions containing music lyrics written by somebody else MUST be removed immediatly to avoid the risk of getting the author's account frozen. **

** This fic, _The Red, _contains music lyrics that I did not write. Even though I used a disclaimer for every song, and there is nothing in the Terms of Service about the inability to include music lyrics, I DO NOT want my account frozen. **

**I was not continuing this fanfiction anyway, but I do not want to see it deleted. So, I am keeping it posted on one of my personal websites. I will post the link here once I get it set up. Please check here frequently so you will not miss the link.**

** Thank you, and I'm sorry to anyone who enjoyed reading this fanfiction.**

**-AgilityNut **


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